


Far From Home

by everythingneedsrevision



Category: Hardy Boys - Franklin W. Dixon, Nancy Drew - Carolyn Keene, Nancy Drew/Hardy Boys Super Mysteries - Franklin W. Dixon & Carolyn Keene
Genre: Alternate Universe, Case Fic, Crossover, First Meetings, Gen, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-10 02:34:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 18
Words: 42,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5565952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/everythingneedsrevision/pseuds/everythingneedsrevision
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fenton disappeared and is presumed dead while on a case in Chicago, leaving Frank and Joe to the mercy of the foster care system. Assigned to separate foster homes, the boys try to prove that their father is alive so they can fix their family and return to Bayport.  </p><p>Meanwhile, Nancy Drew has become suspicious of the two new students at her school. The story they tell doesn't make sense, and with the rash of petty crime affecting the school, Bess' new neighbor is on the top of her suspect list, along with his secretive older brother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dangerous Placements

**Author's Note:**

> I could have sworn I read a book where Joe and Frank were suspects in Nancy's case and their first meeting was hostile, and that was what I figured the first supermystery must have been. I read it and found nothing of the sort. They were all old friends. Having watched the meeting of them on the seventies television show, I wondered if maybe that was why I thought it, but what I pictured was still different from what was on screen.
> 
> So... In the end, I decided to write my own version where they meet as her suspects. I came up with an entire AU starting where Frank and Joe were "orphaned" as teens in Chicago. They've never crossed paths with Nancy before, and they're in trouble with no one to trust.
> 
> Or, I am insane, and this is the result.
> 
> It may end up Frank/Nancy (maybe even Joe/Bess) but I haven't finished it yet, so I'm still seeing how things play out. I let stories choose their direction as they go.

* * *

“Dad's _not_ dead,” Joe shouted, looking like he was going to take a run at the social worker. “And we have family. We shouldn't have to stay here.”

Frank put a hand on Joe's shoulder, trying to calm his younger brother. That argument might have worked a few months ago, just after Fenton's disappearance and before the car was found in the river, but now it was hard to believe, especially for skeptics who didn't know their father like they did. Frank didn't believe he was dead, but he didn't think anyone else would see that as any more than grief talking. They were, unfortunately, stuck.

“Your father is gone,” Mrs. Hausler said, keeping her voice gentle, “and since we've been unable to reach any of your family, you have been declared wards of the state.”

“I don't understand,” Frank said, attempting to stay calm. “What about Mom? Aunt Gertrude?”

“You were aware that they were traveling in Europe?”

Frank nodded. “That was their plan, but that trip was only two weeks long. They should be back by now and—you're not suggesting they're dead, too?”

“No one knows,” Hausler said, reaching up to adjust her glasses. She took them off and let them rest on the chain around her neck. “I'm sorry, boys. With your mother and aunt out of contact and your father dead, there is no other course for us to take.”

Frank swallowed. “What about... emancipation? Can I file for that? I can get a job and support myself.”

“Perhaps, but that's not an option for Joe right now, and even if you were able to gain that status, it wouldn't be enough to grant you custody of your brother,” Hausler explained. She gave Frank a look of pity that made him sick to his stomach. “I'm afraid my bad news doesn't end there.”

“You're placing us separately,” Frank said, and bile rose up his throat. How was he supposed to take being in a different home from Joe? More importantly, how was Joe going to take that? “You can't. We need to—”

“I'm afraid it's very difficult to keep families together, but in the case of two teenage boys... Well, houses might be willing to take in one, but not two. I'm sorry. Joe is going to a nice home with two other children. The mother is a stay-at-home mom, and the father is an accountant. Frank, you're going to be the first child we've placed in this home. They're a bit nervous about that, but I'm sure they'll be impressed with your maturity.”

Frank nodded. He knew he could handle whatever was coming, but Joe had a tendency to be hot-headed and impulsive. He might cause trouble. “Are we... at least in the same school?”

“Oh, yes. You'll be in a nice suburb of the city. River Heights. It'll be a good place for both of you. Trust me.”

Frank forced a smile, tightening his grip on Joe's shoulder, but he knew that none of this was good. Not for them. Not for anyone.

* * *

“I don't want to do this,” Joe said, hand on the door handle. “I won't do this.”

Frank sighed, and Joe wished he'd get madder about all this. His brother's ability to be calm about this whole situation was infuriating. Frank just stood back and took all of this, never once letting it get to him, when he should. They had family, they weren't orphans, and their father wasn't dead. He was out there, and they had to find him. And their mom. And their aunt.

“You have to,” Frank told him. He leaned over so the social worker couldn't hear him. “If we are going to find Dad, we have to go along with this. We couldn't do much from the group home, but we'll have more flexibility now that we're being placed in homes. We'll be able to talk at school and make plans from there. Go on. It'll be okay.”

Joe nodded glumly, giving Frank a final, fierce hug before he got out of the car. He stood, letting the social worker lead him toward the house. Hausler knocked on the door, and a woman with a warm smile opened it. She reminded him a bit of his mother, he thought, feeling sick.

“Joe, this is Mrs. King,” Hausler said, making the introduction. “This is Joe Harding.”

He frowned as he looked at the social worker. She had his name wrong? No wonder they couldn't find his mom or his aunt. “Um, Mrs. Hausler—”

“Hi, I'm Linda. I'm glad to meet you,” Mrs. King said, and Joe smiled back at her, though he wished he could go back to the car and drag Frank up with him. He'd have something to say about the social worker using the wrong name. He'd have to. “Your room will be upstairs on the left, and we'll have dinner in about fifteen minutes. The girls went next door if you want to fetch them after you're done putting your stuff away.”

Joe gave her words a nod. “I think there's been a mistake, though. My name isn't—”

“I have to take your brother to where he'll be staying,” Mrs. Hausler said. “You go ahead and settle in for the night. You start school tomorrow, so you'll have a busy day.”

“But I'm not—” Joe began, only to have Hausler shut the door behind her, leaving him in the house. He sighed. He knew he'd been what Frank called unreasonable when he tried to tell people that his father was alive, but that didn't mean they should ignore him when he tried to talk. He was not being difficult—if Hausler really had the name wrong, then maybe his mother could end all of this so he and Frank could do what they did best. They would find their father.

“I'm sorry. This must be very difficult for you,” Linda said. “I am glad you're here. I hope you don't mind too much—I wish we'd had room for more, but with the girls and my bad hip... I'm afraid I may have had an ulterior motive in taking in a teenage boy. There's so much around here I just can't do, and if you're willing to help...”

Joe looked down at her cane, feeling like a jerk. “Uh... Yeah, I can help. Frank would have, too.”

She sighed. “My husband was nervous about having a grown boy around our little girls. Two was out of the question. I'm sorry.”

Joe supposed he couldn't blame her for that, though he didn't like leaving Frank behind. “I'll go get the girls for you now. Which house is it?”

She pointed to the left, her hand tight on her cane, and he figured she was probably hurting bad right now. He gave her a reassuring smile and headed out. Maybe it wasn't so bad. If he could help out the Kings just by being here, it was almost worth the mix up, though he'd be sure to tell Frank about Hausler's mistake with the name so they could get that fixed right away.

He jogged across the yard and rang the bell. After a minute, it opened to a beautiful blonde. He tried not to stare as he looked at her. “Hi. I'm Joe. Mrs. King sent me over to collect the girls.”

“Oh!” She smiled at him. “She kept hoping she'd find someone to help them out, and now you're here. That's so good of you. I've been keeping the girls busy in the afternoons, but I'm afraid I'm not very good at helping them with their homework. They sure look pretty though, don't they?”

She gestured back to the twins, about ten, he thought, with bouncing brown curls and big chocolate eyes. Both of them had been dolled up with bows and makeup, and he figured that was the teen's doing. “I guess it's time for dinner, girls.”

They groaned, and Joe wondered if their mom was a bad cook. The twin with the pink barrettes stepped forward, hugging the older girl. “Thank you for playing dress up, Bess.”

“Any time,” she assured them. “And tomorrow, when Nancy's free, we'll actually get some of your homework done. I promise.”

Joe looked at the girls. “You need to grab anything or...?”

“No, we're good,” the second twin said. “I just wish I could say the same about Mom's cooking.”

Joe groaned. The next few days would be torture.

* * *

“This is it, Frank.”

He swallowed, looking up at the brick. He didn't think this tenement qualified as a suburb. Joe's house had been in a cookie-cutter cul-de-sac, but he would have said he was in one of the worst neighborhoods in the city. None of this looked right. “I thought Joe and I were going to the same school. This... doesn't look right.”

Mrs. Hausler reached to open her door, ignoring the beeping of the car as she got out. “We made sure that it was okay with the district for you to attend out of your residential zone, but we weren't able to place you both in the same neighborhood.”

Frank nodded, but he didn't open his door. “I don't think this is—”

“You are a good kid, and they need help,” Hausler said, trying to explain, but why Joe was in a four bedroom house in the suburbs and Frank was looking to be knifed before he reached the apartment she was sending him to, he didn't know. Something about this was very wrong. “The Marascos have a small convenience store that's been having a rough time. That's why they asked about an older child when they approached us about fostering someone.”

Frank still felt sick as he looked up at the building. “I can understand that. I'm a little concerned about all of this, though. It doesn't feel right.”

“Sweetheart, you don't believe your father is dead. None of this will feel right,” Hausler said. She came around and opened his door. “Come on. We shouldn't keep them waiting.”

Frank followed her to the steps, climbing up them to jump back as the door opened. The man holding it was almost three times Frank's size, almost all of it looking to be muscle. He didn't seem like a shop owner, not when he could crush his inventory in a single fist. A large scar ran across one side of his face, and Frank hoped he wasn't staring because he had a feeling offending this guy would end in a lot of pain.

“I thought you were bringing a girl,” Marasco said, and Frank's stomach twisted at that again, not liking the implications of that.

“She was fostered to another home,” Hausler told him. “I'm sure Frank can be an asset. He's a smart young man with a good work ethic.”

Marasco looked Frank over, and he tried not to fidget under the harsh stare. After a moment, he nodded. “Fine. I can work with this.”

“Good,” Hausler said, relieved. “Frank starts school in the morning, and if you have any questions, give me a call.”

She started to leave, and Frank almost pulled her back. He didn't want to stay here. His instincts were screaming at him to run. He faced Marasco and forced a smile. “What would you like me to do?”

Marasco pointed to the back. “Broom. Sweep. Whole store.”

Frank nodded, moving to the back of the store. He had just pushed open the employees only door when he remembered where he'd heard the name Marasco before—in his father's files. The case he'd been investigating before he disappeared.

Marasco was the name of a mob enforcer suspected of at least a dozen murders.


	2. Enter Suspicion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy stumbles onto crime on campus while Frank and Joe find themselves targeted from multiple directions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Despite the fact that the dialogue between Frank and Joe was rattling around my brain all day, I didn't manage to get it down or right at first. As was Nancy's case. Action is so hard to write.

* * *

Nancy adjusted her bag over her shoulder. She fought the urge to yawn as he headed toward the chem lab. She was glad that her teacher had been willing to let her make up the experiment she'd missed when she was sick—on a stakeout, she thought with a grimace—but not as glad that he'd insisted on her coming in before school started to do it. She shouldn't complain—her instructors were far more understanding about her life as a detective than they should be—but after a long night that ended with her covered in mud and bruises, she was a little cranky.

She rounded the corner, pushing her way through the double doors and walking down the hall two doors until she reached the lab. She frowned when she saw the door was ajar. Mr. Barron was a stickler about having the door closed when he had class.

She shook it off. This wasn't class. She was just making up the one experiment she'd missed. She would only be here for a few minutes—half-an-hour, she thought—and then she could meet Bess and George for breakfast before their first class.

“Mr. Barron?”

She didn't see him. She flipped the lightswitch on and stopped. The locked case where Barron and the rest of the science department kept their chemicals had been shattered, the glass all over the countertop and floor. She couldn't be sure, not without an inventory, but she thought some of them might be missing.

She heard a groan and turned, rushing over to where Barron was sprawled on the floor, bleeding from his forehead. He must have been hit from behind, at an angle. He probably hadn't seen it coming. She started toward him only to hear glass crunching as she did. She checked under her feet, but she didn't see anything there.

She hit the counter as someone ran past her. She only caught a blur of black and dark hair as he rushed out the door. She gave Barron another glance and forced herself onto her feet, running after the man who'd knocked her down. She saw the double doors swinging, knowing that was where he went, but after she got past them, she wasn't sure which direction to take.

She went to the right first, through the near empty corridor until she heard voices.

“Where have you been? You're late.”

“I know. It took longer than I thought.”

She leaned against the wall. Was this Barron's attacker and his accomplice? She couldn't be sure. She didn't know if she should stay where she was, not with him hurt and no way to be certain if these two were involved in harming him.

“Do you have it?”

She tensed. This sounded like the right pair. The one wanted something the other had gotten from the chem lab. She inched closer, wanting to get eyes on them if she could.

“What happened?”

She wanted to know that herself. Was he about to admit that he'd hit Barron while he was stealing from the school? She peeked around the corner, managing to catch sight of a dark haired boy next to another one, that one blond and fairly muscular.

“Did you hear something?”

She swore under her breath, hurrying away from them. She couldn't let them see her if they were involved, and she knew that she had to get back to Barron. She shouldn't have left him in the first place.

* * *

“Where have you been?” Joe demanded, wanting to shake his brother the moment he'd seen him. He hadn't slept last night, couldn't, just paced and waited for the morning to come so that he could leave for school and see his brother again. Not that the Kings were bad people—he loved the twins, they were a riot, and Linda was nice, if one of the worst cooks he'd ever met. “You're late.”

Frank grimaced. “I know. It took longer than I thought.”

Joe tried to calm himself down. Frank looked tired, and Joe shouldn't be pushing so hard this early. “Do you have it?”

They hadn't been able to hold onto much, but Joe would feel a lot better knowing that Frank still had their father's notebook, the one he used for all his cases. They didn't have anything else of home or normalcy right now.

Frank nodded, patting his pocket. He reached in and pulled it out, handing it to Joe. He frowned, not understanding why Frank was giving it to him. Frank was always in charge of the notebook if anything happened to Fenton.

“What happened?”

His brother looked down the hall. “Did you hear something?”

“No.”

“I think someone's over there,” Frank said, moving toward whatever it was he'd imagined hearing. Joe shook his head, frustrated, wishing Frank's behavior made sense. Why did it matter if someone was here? It was a school. Frank didn't honestly believe that the people behind their father's disappearance were here, did he?

“There's no one there, Frank,” Joe said, disgusted. “The hall is empty, and you're being overly paranoid. I know we don't know what happened to Dad, but it's not like anyone involved is here. This is a high school.”

Frank gave him a look. Joe frowned again. “What is wrong with you?”

“My foster parents have a store,” Frank answered. “I spent all of last night cleaning and stocking it. I'm tired and sore.”

“Your foster parents? Did you hear what you just said? That is beyond wrong. They're not our foster anything. They're not parents. We don't belong there. I mean, the woman didn't even have our name right. She told Linda King I was named Harding, not Hardy,” Joe said, shaking his head. “We have to get that fixed—that's probably half the reason they can't find Mom or Aunt Gertrude. If they did, then we could get out of here.”

“I don't know that her slipping once means she didn't have the right name,” Frank said. Joe rolled his eyes, annoyed. He didn't understand why Frank had to be so stubborn and logical about this. Why was he just accepting this situation? None of it was right. Their father was alive.

“She did, though. Let's go fix this. We need to get out of here.”

“It's not that simple.”

“Why not?”

Frank hesitated. “I... I don't think they'll listen to us. We just have to work around the system. If we find Dad, we will sort it all out. For now, we just keep our heads down and survive the next few days.”

Joe turned away, ready to punch the wall. “Fine, but we start looking for Dad today. Right after school. No excuses. I'll do it without you if I have to.”

“You won't.”

* * *

“Mr. Barron?”

Nancy knelt next to him, wincing as she did. She didn't think the wound was fatal, though it was possible he had a concussion and he would feel that blow to the head for a while. He should be fine, though. She didn't want to believe he wouldn't. That would make her complicit, having abandoned him to chase after a phantom.

“Na... Nan...”

“Yes, it's Nancy. I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner,” she told him. “You got hit by something—someone. I think you may have a concussion.”

Barron tried to get up. She held out a hand, blocking him. “Easy. You shouldn't be moving around too much. We don't know if you're hurt anywhere else.”

“Head...”

“I bet,” she agreed. She studied him, trying to see if she could locate any other injuries. “It'll hurt for a while. Let's get you to the nurse's office and then we'll see about getting you to the hospital.”

Barron groaned. He leaned against the counter and stared at the broken case. Nancy thought about asking him about the chemicals, but she didn't think he could tell anything from what he might be seeing right now.

“...Damn... kids...”

“Did you see him?” Nancy asked, unable to help herself. She wanted to find this guy and stop him before he went too far. Stealing was one thing—assaulting Mr. Barron another.

“Dark...” Barron went to the nearest sink and puked. “Had... dark hair.”

Nancy thought of the boy she'd seen in the hall. He was new, and she didn't know him, but he'd been where her suspect should have been and he had dark hair. He could be the one that attacked the teacher. She'd have to keep a close eye on that one—and his friend.

* * *

Frank watched Joe leave, stopping to rest against the wall. He was too sore to do much else. He lifted his shirt and examined the dark mark on his side. If Marasco could do that just by bumping into Frank as he passed by, he didn't want to see what would happen if he was _trying_ to hurt Frank.

He lowered his shirt and closed his eyes. He'd have to come clean with Joe soon enough, but he knew what would happen if he let Joe know about the accidental bump he'd gotten last night. He'd want to face Marasco right away or he'd go charging into Hausler's office.

Hausler.

That was the real problem, wasn't it? Once Frank remembered that Marasco was in his father's files, he couldn't help wondering about his placement in the man's home. How could someone suspected of mob hits be given custody of any child? Was Hausler working with him?

What had the man intended for the girl he'd thought he was getting?

Frank shuddered. He still didn't think that could be anything good. He had yet to see anything of his foster mother, and he wouldn't have a hard time believing that Marasco was abusing her—if she even existed. Frank wasn't sure. 

He was seeing conspiracies everywhere, and he was too tired to think any of this through properly. At least he'd gotten their father's notebook to Joe. It was safer with him. He seemed to be in a good enough place—Joe would have told him if he wasn't. Frank, on the other hand... He could be in a lot of trouble. If Marasco was who Frank thought he was, he might well end up dead.

He hadn't lied to Joe about his night. Other than the bruise he'd gotten when Marasco shoved past him to go to the stockroom, he'd spent his evening working. Marasco had a list he wanted done, and Frank didn't get to know where his bed was until he was done with it.

He'd ended up on the floor in the stockroom, unable to do any more. It was cold, uncomfortable, and he hadn't actually done much sleeping.

Had Marasco tied him to their father and was he punishing Frank for that? Had he wanted Frank and Joe all along? How corrupt was Hausler? If she had placed him there on purpose, she could have sent him to his death.

They couldn't rush to prove she had the name wrong. She might do worse to them if she was involved. He needed a way to prove that the social worker wasn't working with Marasco before they went near her again.

Until then, they'd have to play along.

Frank just hoped he could last long enough to figure out what happened to their father.


	3. Rocky Start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank's pain making him grumpy and his need to keep his injury a secret aren't making him any friends. It's actually adding to Nancy's suspicions as she continues to investigate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was hard to write. I think in part it was because Frank is not himself due to being hurt, and also because I'm used to Frank and Nancy getting along. And... I don't know that I know how to write Nancy's friends. :(

* * *

“It's a pretty basic experiment,” Frank said, looking at the beakers. “Acids and bases.”

“Bored, Harding?” the kid next to him asked, and Frank gave him a look. He had a feeling that Nickerson was popular around here, so he didn't understand why he was the only one without a lab partner, meaning Frank was put with him as soon as he showed up for class.

“We were doing things with polymers and also the Briggs-Rauscher reaction back home.”

“Oh? Where was that?” Nickerson asked, acting like he was genuinely interested and surprising Frank. He didn't know what to think of this one—he was nice enough, but Frank just wanted to be left alone. He was too tired and sore to make small talk.

Frank started to answer him, but Nickerson went to move a beaker and bumped Frank's bad side, causing him to bite down on his cheek to keep from screaming, grabbing hold of the counter and trying to hold himself up so he didn't fall. He couldn't hardly breathe, and he didn't remember getting hit close to his ribs, but then the bruise just seemed to get worse, and Marasco _was_ huge.

_“Out of the way, kid,” Marasco said, walking past Frank. He hit the wall and felt the man's fist brush against his stomach enough to wind him. That guy had to be all muscle, and Frank felt like he was going to be crushed there when it should have taken him only seconds to walk past him._

_When Marasco stopped pinning him to the wall, Frank slid down with a moan, not sure how to move after that. It shouldn't be that bad. He'd been hurt worse. He knew that. Detective work was dangerous. His father hadn't wanted them involved at first._

_Frank really wished he wasn't involved now. If Marasco had any idea he was the son of a famous detective, he would do a lot worse than what had just happened, and Frank knew for all his training, he would never have a physical advantage against the man. He would have to find something more intellectual and hope that the fact that Marasco had gotten away with murder had more to do with who his friends were and not because he was a smart criminal._

He smelled something burning and turned to see that Nickerson had finished the experiment without him. Frank glanced at the clock—class was almost over. He'd spent almost the entire period out of it—wrapped up in a moment that had taken _seconds._ How was he supposed to investigate anything like this? He couldn't hardly even think.

He picked up his bag and left the room, needing to find something he could use to cut the pain. That would be a start. Then he'd see if he could talk to Joe. He still didn't want to tell him just how bad things were in the Marasco house, but he'd have to rely on Joe to do a lot more than usual, and he had a feeling little brother wouldn't like it.

“Harding?”

Nickerson was in his face again, and Frank didn't have it in him to fake a smile. He was too sore and too sick of being called by the wrong name.

“What?”

“I was going to ask if you were okay—”

“Fine,” Frank bit out even as his side screamed in protest and he thought he felt lightheaded. He forced himself to keep moving. He should have stopped to get something to eat, even if he hadn't been very hungry after last night. 

“You know you need the results to turn in your assignment, right?”

Frank looked back at Nickerson. “Acids and bases. Predictable reaction. I could make the results up in my sleep.”

And he ducked around the corner and into the bathroom, taking another look underneath his shirt. Internal bleeding seemed so unlikely—the contact hadn't been that sustained or that traumatic—but he knew he was getting worse.

First he needed to find a place to buy some aspirin, and then he'd see what he could do about the rest of this mess.

* * *

“Another day of high school is half over,” George said, opening her soda and starting in on her lunch. “Too bad there's still half of it left.”

Bess giggled, enjoying her cousin's joke. She was in a good mood today, the kind of good mood that usually came with some cute boy, and Nancy knew they'd hear about it soon enough. Bess couldn't resist a good looking boy, and sometimes Nancy thought that should get her into more trouble than it already did, but Bess just liked to flirt and didn't take it too far.

“It's not that bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” Ned groused as he joined them, letting his lunch tray hit the table a little too hard for Nancy's liking. She pulled hers away from him even as he gave her an apologetic smile. “Sorry. Guess I'm taking out my frustration with my new lab partner on the tray.”

“I can't believe they're having class like normal,” Nancy muttered, shaking her head. She hadn't heard anything about Mr. Barron since he'd been taken to the hospital, but she knew that Ned wasn't the only one who'd had class today. She didn't see how they could do that—they should have shut down the lab as it was a crime scene, but since everyone with a chemistry class had it so far, they must not have.

All of that evidence was going to be lost. She'd have to get in there and see what she could salvage. So much for lunch with her friends.

“There he is!” Bess cried, making Nancy jerk her head up, though after a moment, she realized that this must be Bess' boy of the week. “That smile. Those eyes. Just the thing to make a girl weak in the knees...”

“And a few other places,” George muttered, shaking her head. “I would have thought you'd blown through every guy in River Heights by now, but somehow you keep managing to find them. I don't know how you do it.”

Bess glared at her cousin. “He's new. And he's nice. You should have seen him with Mrs. King's daughters. They weren't even to the yard yet and they were joking around and laughing like he had been there all their lives instead of a day.”

“He's your neighbor?” Nancy asked, concerned. If this guy lived close to Bess, things could be very ugly if they went wrong and he didn't like her like she liked him. This could be bad, though she didn't really have time to deal with that now. She had to get back before the evidence was all gone. “I thought the Kings didn't—”

“Nancy, the twins told you last week their parents wanted to try foster care so they'd have someone around to help out Mrs. King since her leg is getting worse,” Bess said, shaking her head. “You weren't listening, were you? You were thinking about a case.”

“Bess—”

“The twins really like you, but sometimes I don't even know why. Joe paid more attention to them in one night than you have the entire time you've known them,” Bess said, and Nancy frowned at the sudden attack.

“Easy, Bess,” George said. “I know you're defensive because Nancy was suspicious of your new flame, but you don't have to be like that. You know that Nancy loves spending time with the girls. She does it as often as she can, and she _does_ listen to them.”

“Thanks, George,” Nancy said, feeling grateful she had such loyal friends—even if one of them was mad at her.

“Ooh,” Bess said, and Nancy turned to her. “Check out his friend—that guy is better looking than—no, he's not better than Joe, but he's—ooh.”

George let out a whistle. “Hmm. Even I can appreciate the way that one looks. He doesn't seem too full of himself.”

Ned snorted. “That's not what you'd think if he was your lab partner. The guy's a jerk and plenty full of himself. He started saying he was doing all these advanced experiments in his hometown, then when I asked him where that was, he just ignored me. He didn't help at all with the experiment, and then when I told him he needed my information when he turned in his lab, he said he could make up stuff on acids and bases in his sleep.”

Nancy took another look at Bess' neighbor and his friend. The one was dark haired, tall but not a giant, and the other one was blond and shorter, more muscular than the first. She thought maybe they could have been the pair she'd seen in the hall earlier. And if this guy was as good with chemicals as he claimed, with the attitude Ned described, he just might have been the one who broken into the lab and attacked Mr. Barron.

She'd have to find out more about them.

She glanced toward Bess. “Aren't you even going to say hello? I thought this guy was the love of your life.”

“He might be,” Bess said, sticking out her tongue at Nancy as she stood. George and Ned both gave Nancy weird looks, but she just smiled. She knew it was a risk, but she also knew Bess. She'd have a lot of information when Nancy got back, and she had no choice—she had to go after the evidence now.

She'd gather her own intelligence on that suspicious pair later.

* * *

“Typical.”

Joe frowned. “What?”

Frank gestured toward the girl approaching them. The blond from yesterday was waving at Joe, and he couldn't help smiling back at her. She was cute and she'd been fun, promising him something to make up for his groan over Mrs. King's bad food. He liked her. “You just can't help flirting, can you? No matter where we are or what's going on, Joe Hardy will find a pretty girl and chat her up.”

Joe frowned. “What's with you? What did I do to piss you off?”

Frank rubbed his head. Joe thought he looked a little pale, and he had to wonder if it was more than working at that store bothering him. The separation was hard, their whole situation so frustrating that Joe barely slept despite having a comfortable bed and the twins doing their best to wear him out before Mrs. King sent them off to bed.

“Joe,” Bess said, and any chance of getting Frank to answer now was gone. She was all smiles, though, and Joe couldn't help it—he was smiling again because hers were just infectious. “I thought that was you. How many times did Ruth and Lizzie beg you for stories last night?”

“I lost count at fifty,” Joe told her, liking the way she laughed. “Those two are insatiable. I might have to throw Frank at them just to survive.”

Frank frowned at him. Bess giggled, and then she straightened up. “Oh, I'm sorry. We haven't met. I'm Bess Marvin.”

“This is my brother, Frank. And he's apparently in one of his antisocial cranky moods,” Joe said, gesturing to the statue beside him who hadn't managed to say one word to Bess. She wasn't Frank's type, not by a long shot, but she didn't deserve the silent treatment, either.

“You're brothers?”

“Yeah, we don't look that much alike,” Joe said, knowing it had been an asset before in their detective work. “Frank got almost all of Dad's looks whereas I got Mom's. I'm definitely the pretty one.”

Bess' laughter was loud enough to make Frank cringe, and he shook his head. “I have to go.”

“Frank,” Joe began, but his brother waved him off. Joe sighed, looking back at Bess. “Sorry. I didn't—this whole thing has been pretty hard, and I'm sure it's eating at Frank that he couldn't stop them from separating us.”

“You're not in the same house?”

“No,” Joe said, still angry about that. She tensed, and he realized he'd balled up his fist. “Sorry. It's just... All we really have left is each other, they took everything else, and they couldn't even let us stay together. They act like... like we're kids.”

“You kind of are,” Bess said, but he shook his head. She didn't understand. They weren't just kids. They never had been. They'd been detectives for years—childhood was gone with that, more so for Frank than for him—and there wasn't a more responsible person _than_ Frank. He might not have been of legal age yet, but he should be able to take care of them both. He did it anyway.

“Not really,” Joe said, shaking his head. He wouldn't tell her all of that. He'd just get angry again. “I think I got the better end of the house deal, though. Even with Mrs. King's cooking.”

Bess flinched. “Yeah. I tell you what—if Hannah knows you're there, she'll feed you all for a week. It's what she does. Let's go introduce you to—Oh. Nancy left. Well, you can still meet Ned and George.”

Joe let her drag him over to her table, though he had to search the cafeteria for Frank. His brother was gone, and he knew he'd have to find him later and fix this. He wasn't putting a pretty girl ahead of finding their father. He'd skip all his classes this afternoon if he and Frank had anything to go on, but he didn't even know where to start. That was Frank's job.

Joe decided his would be finding a way to fit in here in River Heights, as Frank said they had to, so this was all part of his cover, right?

* * *

“Damn stupid child protection lids.”

Nancy looked over, seeing the glass on the floor mixed with small, white pills. She couldn't believe that her crime scene had just been contaminated—again. She didn't know how this had happened or why the police had allowed it to happen in the first place. Maybe the broken case was just petty vandalism, but the assault on Mr. Barron wasn't.

“What are you doing in here?”

“Chasing a bottle of aspirin,” her suspect answered, pointing to the empty one on the floor. “I dropped it in the hallway and it rolled in here. Then when I picked it up to open it, the stupid thing went out of my hands.”

Nancy studied him. That sounded so ridiculous she wondered how dumb he thought she was that he expected her to believe that. “You're kidding, right?”

“No. Generally speaking, I don't have a sense of humor.”

“Or much grace,” she said, looking down at the pills scattered among the glass. “I'm still not sure how you managed that.”

“Apparently the childproofing on the cap applies to teenagers, too,” he said ruefully, and Nancy fought a smile as she heard him say it—this was her suspect. She wasn't supposed to like him. That wasn't what a responsible detective did. If she befriended him—and she wasn't—it was only for the sake of her investigation. He glanced toward the glass and then at her. “Guess I'm not the only klutz around here.”

She flushed. “This wasn't me—someone broke into the chem lab and hit Mr. Barron over the head. This is what they left behind.”

“Nice mess.”

If she'd thought he was going to admit to being behind the break-in, she would have been disappointed, but she wasn't used to criminals confessing without her confronting them with proof first. She had no proof here, just a suspicion that he'd returned to the scene of his crime.

Why, though? Did he really think he could get the chemicals now, while everyone was on lunch?

“I think if you're hoping the science department will give you extra credit for helping them clean it up, you picked the wrong assignment,” he told her. “Can't see why anyone would need it since that chem class is a joke, but maybe you do.”

She frowned. “You really _are_ new.”

While Nancy wasn't the sort to brag, she wasn't unknown in River Heights. Just about everyone knew who Nancy Drew was and what she did. She'd made the paper and had friends on the police force. Only someone from out of town wouldn't know who she was and why she was looking at broken glass.

“Your powers of observation are impressive,” he said, shaking his head. “I need another bottle of aspirin now, so I'll leave you to it.”

She nodded, letting him leave. She knew he wasn't going to admit to anything now, and she didn't need to confront him before she had proof.

Then again, she thought as the door closed behind him—maybe she already had it. If Barron had a chance to fight back against his attacker, that could explain why the new guy was in need of aspirin. He'd been hurt in their altercation, and _that_ could be the only proof she needed.


	4. Suspicious Minds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe figures out Frank is keeping things from him, which unfortunately only makes people around them more suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently, instead of doing anything useful today, I am writing more fic while sick, which never seems like a good idea, though I swear I had the ending in mind for a while. It just changed on me a bit. And Joe was like, "it would not take me that long to figure out Frank was hiding stuff" and so this happened.
> 
> Oh... and I have no intention of pursuing the Ned/Nancy hints. It's just my attempt to blend my AU and canon a bit closer, but it's not something I feel like I can write convincingly, so I won't go there. Just saying.

* * *

“Your brother looks bored,” Bess said, eying the dark haired boy across the room. She had thought her attention would be caught up in Joe the entire time, since he'd managed to snag a seat near her, and she was secretly thrilled to be in the same class as him. She supposed that was foolish—none of her flirting had turned into anything lasting. She knew Ned wanted there to be more between him and Nancy, but she kept putting him off for cases, which George joked would always be Nancy's one and true love.

Bess would much rather that love be mutual—and if the guy was good-looking, that was a plus, wasn't it?

“He would be,” Joe said. “Though he's usually more polite about it.”

Bess looked at him. “You mean he doesn't sleep through his classes most of the time?”

“Are you kidding?” Joe snorted. “My brother is a cross between a dork and a genius. He's in all these advanced classes back home, getting college credit for them and everything. This? So beneath him. He took this sort of thing—what, five years ago?”

Bess had to smile. “You think a lot of your brother, don't you?”

“'Course I do,” Joe answered. “Frank's the best. Couldn't ask for a better brother. Oh, well, I guess sometimes I think there are things I'd change about him—he can be so logical and responsible and even a little goody-goody sometimes, and that can be so frustrating, but I know I can count on him. Frank has never let me down.”

Bess thought it was adorable how close they were. “I bet that makes the separation that much worse.”

“It's like torture,” Joe admitted. “I couldn't sleep last night. Normally, I'd go find Frank and bug him, since you know... he doesn't sleep much because he's always doing research or homework or some project—he really doesn't have a life—but he wasn't there.”

Bess heard the pain in Joe's voice and took his hand, giving it a squeeze. “It'll be okay.”

Joe shook his head. “This whole thing is so messed up, and I don't know—Frank seems to think we just have to accept it, and if Frank thinks there isn't a way to fix it—if he really believes that Dad is dead... It's not like Frank to give up, but I'm almost afraid he has. He's not... like himself.”

“Your brother is close to eighteen, isn't he? He'll be out of the system soon.”

Joe rubbed his forehead. “Yeah, if any of that paperwork got filed right, which I doubt. I don't know what's up with Hausler, but I can't believe. Oh, hell. That bastard. He knew and he didn't tell me. I'm going to kill him.”

Bess frowned. “What?”

Joe just shook his head, mouth in a tight line as he glared over at his brother, whose eyes were mostly closed. Frank didn't seem to be aware of his brother's mood shift, but Bess had to admit—it kind of scared her. She'd never seen anyone flip a switch quite like that, and she didn't want to know what Nancy would think of it.

Or maybe she did. She should probably talk to Nancy after this class, though she would warn her away from Joe, which wasn't what Bess really wanted. She'd seen him with Ruth and Lizzie. That guy was a sweetheart. That one she liked. He didn't scare her at all.

Still, it was a _little_ unnerving that he was able to get mad so quickly.

* * *

“What the hell were you thinking?” A voice demanded loudly, creating a slight echo in the hallway. “You should have told me.”

Nancy stopped, not the only one who did as the blond new guy got right up in the face of the dark haired one. Joe. That was right. Bess had said his name was Joe, though even with her conversation with the other one earlier, she hadn't gotten his name. Bess came up beside her, and Nancy saw her chewing her lip as she did.

This did look like it was about to get ugly. Both boys were tense, she could see that much in their body language, and she wasn't sure what would happen if they broke out into a fight.

“Joe, this is not the time or the place for this,” the other one said, his voice tight and controlled, though still heated underneath the near calm he tried to project. “We can discuss it later. You're making a scene.”

“You think I care about a _scene,_ Frank? You _lied_ to me, and when you lie—”

Frank, as Nancy now knew him, grabbed hold of the blond and dragged him away from where the crowd was starting to form, speaking in his ear as he did. Joe rolled his eyes, but he didn't stop the guy from leading him away.

“I guess things can get bad between brothers,” Bess said, and Nancy looked over at her, surprised. She nodded. “Yeah, Joe told me they're brothers. Frank's the older one, and Joe really admires him. Or... I thought he did until he got really mad at him in the middle of class. It was weird. Almost scary.”

Nancy looked toward the hall where the “brothers” had disappeared. “I don't know, Bess. You'd better be careful around those two. I think Frank may have been the one who hit Mr. Barron today.”

“Frank? Why?” Bess asked, shaking her head. “I don't think so. Joe says he's dependable and responsible—smart, too—he takes college classes and everything.”

“You only have Joe's word for that.”

Bess glared at her. “Joe is not a liar. You may suspect everyone which will keep you from being happy—you'll end up old and alone—since it's not like you'll do anything about the fact that Ned likes you—mysteries are more important to you than people, and you don't care who you accuse in the meantime. Did you know that they separated them? Joe doesn't think his dad is dead, but he's afraid Frank has given up, but he can't even be with his brother now because of social services. Maybe you should try and learn more about people before you accuse them of crimes.”

Nancy sighed. “You really like him, don't you?”

“Joe?” Bess flushed pink. “Well... He's nice and sweet. I know I've only known him a day or so, but I don't believe he's capable of what you think he is.”

Nancy didn't try to argue with her. It wouldn't do any good. She might not know Joe well, but Bess had made up her mind. Nancy was going to have to go around her if she wanted to get to the truth about those two “brothers.”

* * *

“What the hell were you thinking?” Joe demanded, catching Frank right outside the classroom. He couldn't wait another minute to confront his brother about what he'd figured out while talking to Bess. “You should have told me.”

“Joe,” Frank hissed out, angry as he did, “this is not the time or the place for this. We can discuss it later. You're making a scene.”

“You think I care about a scene, Frank? You lied to me, and when you lie—”

Frank grabbed his arm, pulling him along as he did. Joe could have fought him off easily enough, but Frank was also whispering as he moved them away from everyone else. “We are not doing this here. We can't afford to. You need to step back and calm down and think this through.”

“Think what through?” Joe asked. “The fact that you're keeping things from me or that you think I'm too stupid to realize that you suspect Hausler of being involved in Dad's disappearance somehow?”

Frank grimaced, herding Joe into an empty classroom. “I don't know that she had anything to do with Dad's disappearance, but after finding us registered her under the name Harding, I was pretty sure that something more was going on than her making a one time slip with your name, yes.”

“Yeah, so let's go deal with it and get out of this mess.”

Frank shook his head. Joe balled his fists, tempted to hit him. “We don't know what Hausler is up to. She could be corrupt, taking money for placing kids in whatever homes she can even if they're not really wards of the state. Or it could be a lot worse.”

Joe stopped, looking his brother over. “How can it be worse? Isn't that bad enough?”

Frank drew in a breath and let it out. “I recognized the name of my foster father as one from Dad's files. It matches a low level mob enforcer.”

Joe put a hand to his head, trying to take that in. His brother was in the house of a mob enforcer? And Frank just wasn't going to tell him? “You really are a jerk sometimes, you know that? How could you keep that from me?”

Frank leaned against the dry erase board, closing his eyes. He really did look tired, maybe even a bit sick, and Joe wanted to shake some sense into him, but he'd probably break him at this point. “I didn't want you to freak out—which is exactly what you did. We need more information before we confront Hausler, and I don't know that the guy I'm staying with is the same one from Dad's files—we weren't allowed to keep them, remember?”

“Yeah,” Joe said, his fist balling for another reason. “I wish we had them to consult.”

Frank sighed. “I wish Dad backed up more of his investigations electronically. I know there's monitoring and passwords can be hacked, but at least if we had that, we could be doing more to figure out what happened to him and who could be involved. If Hausler's connected to them, she could have placed us for other reasons. Or she's not involved with them, but she's got a scheme of her own, and we don't know for sure what any of this is.”

Joe sat on the closest desk. “I don't know. The Kings seem fine. The father never leaves his office, or so it seems—he must be a real freak because who likes accounting _that_ much?—or maybe he's bad with math—but Mrs. King is nice enough. She's lousy at cooking, but the girls are fun and I don't think anything weird is going on in their house.”

“Maybe not,” Frank said. “Here, let me have Dad's notebook again.”

Joe dug it out and stopped. “Wait. You gave this to me—”

“If my foster family is involved in the mob, I don't want to have Dad's notebook with me. Your home sounds a lot safer. Now hurry up. There's only four minutes between classes and we've already used most of that.”

“Yeah, and you're not exactly impressing anyone with your grumpy act or falling asleep in class,” Joe muttered, handing Frank the notebook. He flipped through it quickly, shaking his head as he did.

“I don't see the name King in here.” Frank looked at him, handing the book back. “I think you'll be fine. Just... try not to do anything that's going to get us in trouble. We have to keep our heads down and ride this out until we can find proof Dad is alive.”

“We are working on that today, right?”

“After school,” Frank said. “I'll meet you at your house. I'd rather the people I'm with don't see you. We may need that later.”

Joe tried not to shiver, fear creeping in at his brother's words. He'd lost his father, they claimed his mother and aunt were dead. His brother was all he had left. “Frank...”

“Be careful.”

Joe pulled him close, hearing him grunt. “You, too.”

* * *

“No, Ned, I don't want to go out tonight,” Nancy said, feeling guilty even as she said it. Ned was a great guy, and most of the school weren't shy about telling her she was an idiot for turning him down, but dating was difficult to do around her cases, and since Bess was really taken with this new guy Joe, Nancy wanted to do as much as she could to find out whether or not he really was involved in what happened to Barron.

She couldn't let Bess get involved with a thief who had no qualms about hurting someone to get what he wanted. She had to find out what Frank and Joe Harding knew about the break in. If they were innocent, she'd have to start over in her investigation, but she didn't think she was.

“Okay, Nancy. Another time, maybe,” Ned said, sounding hurt when he hung up. She flinched, hating herself a little more, but she didn't have time to think too much about that when Frank had reached his destination.

She'd thought it was strange that he was headed into the city, and it was, if what Bess had said was true. Why would Frank be in a foster home in the city when Joe was living next door to her? That made no sense at all.

Well, not until she saw the name on the store that Frank walked into.

She knew that name, that store front. Both of them were in her father's files, but even if they weren't, she'd recognize them. Vincente Marasco owned the store, but everyone knew Marasco worked for the mob. He was the main suspect in several murders, but no one had ever pinned one on him before.

And Frank Harding lived with this guy? Talk about suspicious.

* * *

Frank checked his watch again before walking into Marasco's store. He hadn't wanted to come back here after school, but the more his side ached and the more he thought about it, he'd come to an inevitable conclusion—staying here was impossible. He didn't care how much trouble he got in with social services. He wasn't going to spend another night here. He was typicially the responsible one, but this time, he thought he was allowed to go rogue. He'd find a place to stay and spend his entire day looking for their father.

He should have done it weeks ago, all things considered, but Joe was relatively safe where he was, and they could still work together. Frank just couldn't stay where he was and expect to survive long enough to make a difference.

He'd skipped his last class and checked into Marasco on the library's computer. Having confirmed what he already suspected, Frank knew he couldn't stay with that man another night. Under other circumstances, he might have tried to use the situation to his advantage and find proof that the authorities could use against Marasco, but while he was dedicated to stopping crime, he wasn't stupid.

Marasco had almost killed him with an “accidental” brush yesterday. If he found an old paper where Fenton's death was mentioned, if Frank made any kind of slip, if he wasn't good enough at cleaning—he was as good as dead and he knew it.

He walked back to the store room and stopped in the middle of a puddle. Damn. He already knew that wasn't water—not only did Marasco not clean anything in the store, but it wouldn't be that shade of red if it was, not even if some of the raw meat had broken open and spilled juices on the floor.

He started to back out of the storeroom, but he hit the wall first. Groaning, he realized the wall was made of flesh—Marasco's very solid, very livid flesh. The larger man slammed him into a real wall, this one of concrete, and Frank's vision darkened for a moment. He almost preferred that over Marasco's face.

“Told them to send me a girl,” Marasco said, leaning into him with menace. “Not some nosy little punk.”

Frank swallowed, trying to ignore the sharp stab of pain in his side flaring up from the bruise. He wanted to say something about Marasco being stupid to hurt anyone in his own store, but he was already losing this fight. “I just... wanted my stuff... I'll go... now...”

“Like hell you will,” Marasco said, moving his hand to Frank's neck. “You're mine, kid, and I'm going to make sure you don't talk.”


	5. Overheard and Unraveled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank's late. Joe is worried, Bess is concerned, and Nancy is still suspicious.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had so many different versions of how this played out. I wanted to keep up the suspicion and Nancy thinking the worst of the Hardys for a long time, but I backed myself into a corner with Frank and his foster home, so things accelerated a little. I might have to write another version of the idea of Nancy suspecting the boys. I'll see.
> 
> I've got company coming in from out of town and a full work schedule this week, so I may not be able to keep to my goal of a chapter/update a day for all my stories. I just won't have enough time, not with all that has to be done before they arrive and what little time I have outside of work.

* * *

Bess watched as Joe paced the front yard. He would halfheartedly pretend he wasn't, giving Ruth and Lizzie turns spinning or being an airplane. He would smile if they looked at him or asked him for a story, but she could see that something was eating at him, and it would only be a matter of time before he lost his patience with the girls.

She didn't think he'd hurt them, no—she wasn't like Nancy, didn't want to suspect everyone of bad motives and crimes—but she knew he was upset, and she didn't want him doing something that he would regret.

“Hey, girls,” she began, interrupting the latest round of airplane. “How would you like to raid my closet?”

“Really?” Lizzie asked, loving fashion as much as Bess did—they were so fun to go shopping with—even if Ruth was a little less enthusiastic about it. “We can really try on anything?”

“Yep,” she said with a smile. “You can, and later we will do makeup and hair, too.”

“Yay!” Lizzie cried, grabbing hold of her sister and dragging her into Bess' house. Joe blinked, watching them leave as he leaned against the tree, and Bess had to figure he was a little dizzy after all that spinning. Or maybe he was just tired.

“You looked like you needed a break.”

Joe forced another smile, this time for her. “I guess. I like them, they're good kids, but I don't think I have half their energy. I might, I guess, if I had my usual access to food—Frank calls me a bottomless pit, and he's right. I can eat anything anywhere, no matter what's going on. Though... Mrs. King's cooking does test my limits.”

Bess laughed. “Yeah, I bet. Wait until you get a taste of Hannah's cooking, though. Nancy's housekeeper is the best.”

Joe smiled. “I think I'd like that, though... Not now. It'll have to wait.”

“That's okay. It seems like Nancy has forgotten about her promise to come over—again—so we won't have any of Hannah's food until later,” Bess said. She put a hand on his arm. “Are you okay? You seem like a lot more is bothering you than just Mrs. King's cooking.”

He sighed, looking back at the street. “It's Frank.”

“Oh,” Bess said. She grimaced. “I did hear you two fighting earlier. Everyone did, I guess. Are you still mad at him?”

Joe shook his head. “No. We didn't actually fight. That wasn't—trust me, if Frank and I were really fighting, you'd know. That just looked like a fight because I was angry about him keeping stuff from me. Soon as he fessed up, it was fine. Well, no, I am still a bit mad about him thinking he could keep it from me—I know he was trying to protect me, but I still hate it—but that's something else.”

“What else?”

His eyes went back to the road. “Frank said he would meet me here after school. He hasn't shown up yet. And it's Frank. It's not like him to be late.”

Bess nodded. “Can you can call him?”

“No. They took our phones when they put us in the group home. It sucked. They came, said Dad must be dead, and they took us from the hotel and to the home. We didn't get to keep Dad's stuff; they barely let us have any of ours.”

Bess took Joe's hand. “He may just have had trouble getting a ride over. The buses don't exactly run right up to our door.”

“I hope so,” Joe said, but he sounded far from convinced.

* * *

Nancy shifted in her seat. So far, her stakeout hadn't been worth it. She'd been watching Marasco's storefront all afternoon, but she had yet to see any sort of activity from anyone. Frank Harding hadn't come out, and neither had Marasco. She didn't know that she was going to see anything from here, but she knew going inside would let both men know that she was watching them. Frank should recognize her from the aspirin conversation, and he'd know she was onto him.

Marasco was wanted by so many people that he had to suspect anyone who came in the store, and if Frank let on that he went to school with her, she would be in trouble.

She was hungry, though. Maybe if she went into the store, they'd believe she was actually there to buy stuff instead of spy on them. That was unlikely—she had yet to see anyone else enter the store—so she didn't know that she wanted to risk it.

Her phone rang, and she almost jumped, then laughed at herself for being a fool. She shouldn't have been scared by that, but then she'd spent hours imagining worst case scenarios for why Marasco would be involved in thefts at her school. She was a little paranoid now.

“You forgot,” Bess' voice was a mix of hurt and accusation. “Again.”

“What?”

“The girls. You promised Ruth and Lizzie you'd be there today, and I promised them you'd help them with their homework.”

Nancy winced. She hadn't meant to let any of them down. “I'm sorry. There was something I had to do after school—”

“A case,” Bess muttered, shaking her head. She was annoyed, and Nancy was sorry for disappointing her and the girls. She was—but she also knew that she had to know if Bess' neighbor was involved in the attack on Mr. Barron. Everyone needed to know if he was someone they could trust.

“I had to follow up a lead,” Nancy said. She knew Bess wouldn't understand it, not yet, but she wouldn't forgive herself if Bess got hurt by her new crush because Nancy didn't look deep enough into him and his older brother.

“Yeah, well...”

“What was that?” Nancy asked, hearing something in the background. It sounded like a crash and someone cursing. “Are you okay? Did—”

“It was Joe,” Bess said, “and no, before you ask, he didn't hurt anyone. Except maybe himself. He's really worked up about his brother. Frank was supposed to meet him here after school, but he hasn't shown up. Joe's afraid something happened to him. He was just a little upset before, but now he's starting to freak out.”

“Has he tried calling him?”

“No. Their cellphones were taken away by social services,” Bess said, indignation in her voice. “He said they didn't even get to keep all of their stuff—they only had what they were traveling with, but they weren't allowed to take it from the hotel. What is wrong with people? The boys were told their dad was dead and packed off to a group home without what little they had left. That is so wrong. I don't understand how anyone could do that.”

“I don't know, either,” Nancy told her. It did seem like the Hardings had fallen on some pretty bad times. Did that explain why Frank was with Marasco? Could losing so much have pushed the boys into crime? She gave the storefront another glance. She hadn't seen Frank leave the building, though she couldn't watch the alley to see if he might have gone out the back. “Does Joe know where his brother went?”

“Back to his foster home, Joe thinks,” Bess answered. “He doesn't actually know where that is because they dropped him off first and Frank didn't tell him.”

“Why wouldn't Frank tell him?”

“To quote Joe, because Frank is an overprotective idiot,” Bess answered. “He didn't want Joe worrying about how bad things were at his foster home. Nancy, I know you suspect him, but isn't it possible something very bad happened to Frank?”

Nancy didn't know what Frank was up to with Vincente Marasco. “Yes, Bess, it is.”

* * *

“What do you mean—you know she suspects him?”

Bess stopped, a guilty expression on her face. Joe knew she hadn't meant for him to hear her, but he still had ears. They hadn't fallen off while he waited for Frank, not even when he started to get worried enough where he just might panic if Frank didn't show soon. He had known Bess was talking to her friend—he'd known she was talking about him—but this was different.

“Bess, tell me what you meant by that.”

She trembled. “Joe—”

“What? I'm scaring you?” Joe asked. He shook his head, turning away from her. “I don't believe this. Nothing has gone right since we came to this damn state. First Dad, then Mom, then state care, separate homes—now we're suspects? What do you think we did?”

Bess drew in a breath and let it out. “You know there was a break-in and Mr. Barron was hurt, right?”

“Yeah, I heard about it, but I don't see—wait. You think I did that?”

“No.” Bess shook her head quickly. “Nancy thinks Frank was the one who did it. She found Mr. Barron and chased someone from the room. He ran down the hallway—and she saw you two there. Mr. Barron said the guy who attacked him had dark hair. I told her she had to be wrong because you're sweet and everything you've told me about Frank makes him seem like a decent guy, but Nancy... she's a detective. She wouldn't let it go until she was sure herself.”

Joe rubbed his forehead. “A detective?”

Bess nodded. “She's solved dozens of cases. Nancy's good with puzzles—and mysteries.”

Joe snorted. “She can't be _that_ good. She suspects Frank.”

Bess smiled at him, and Joe felt some of the tension leaving him for a minute. He'd been so worked up over Frank, but Bess did help him feel more at ease. She was soothing, and he liked that about her. He'd really thought he could call her a friend—right up until this Nancy person suspected his brother. That was so wrong. He couldn't even believe how wrong it was.

“Wait. You said Nancy suspected Frank. Does that mean... she was watching him?”

* * *

“You are stronger than you look, kid.”

Frank didn't consider that much of a compliment, but he gathered that Marasco did, thinking it should somehow please Frank that despite what Marasco had just done to him he was alive. He didn't much _want_ to be alive, not in this much pain, feeling as sick as he did, but he'd lived. He'd passed out, and he'd thought that was it, and he was done, but he wasn't done.

And he knew Joe would hate knowing that Frank would have been okay with it if he was.

He knew he had to find his father, and there was still a chance that despite the innocent seeming house Joe had been put into, he was still at risk, but Frank didn't know that he was getting up again all the same. Everything hurt, and he didn't think he'd be able to count high enough to tally the bruises. He was still trying to understand why he was able to breathe and didn't want to think about the parts of him that were bleeding.

“There,” Marasco said, smiling because Frank had acknowledged him. “Now aren't you glad that we had this little chat?”

Frank managed a snort, still not attempting to move or speak. He did not think he could. He'd figured out quickly enough why Marasco liked this place—he'd thought the man was stupid for hurting someone in his own store—but the place must be soundproof. No one seemed to notice what Marasco had done. He knew they had to be terrified of him, too, but Frank had screamed. He hadn't intended to, but there was no holding it back.

His throat was raw and bruised, just like the rest of him.

Frank closed his eyes. He'd assumed, when Marasco took hold of him, that he would just kill him. That would have been kinder in some ways. He knew that he would carry scars from this—if he did survive, since there was still a good possibility that he'd end up dead after this.

“Why?”

He hadn't recognized his own voice when it came out. The sound of it was all wrong. Weak, hoarse, older than him.

Marasco reached over and patted Frank's cheek. “Oh, Frankie. You really don't get it, do you?”

Frank flinched under the touch, trying to turn away from him. He knew that Marasco had enjoyed what he'd done—the smiles and laughter assured Frank of that—but he didn't see why the man would keep him alive just to do it again.

He didn't have more than one round of that in him anyway.

“Why?” Frank repeated. He hadn't actually seen anything that incriminating. He didn't know anything, and he wasn't that good a punching bag. Why bother keeping him alive? It wasn't worth it. He was more of a risk alive. He could still tell people what Marasco had done to him.

“You think I'd pass up the opportunity to get at one of Fenton Hardy's sons?”


	6. All in the Open

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe confronts Nancy about her suspicions only to get a surprise of his own.

* * *

Nancy watched as Marasco left the front of the store. From the way he slammed the front door and yanked down the metal gate over it, he was angry. He also wasn't leaving Frank in charge, and she had to reconsider her position on him being willingly involved with the mobster. She knew that Bess believed Joe, and Nancy loved that Bess was such an open, trusting person, but she could be too trusting. Nancy thought she helped balance out that, being more cautious, but most people said she was too suspicious.

She saw Marasco get in his car, driving away fast enough to leave marks. She put her hand on her keys and started to turn them, but she stopped. She knew she wasn't prepared to take on a man who had killed a dozen people with his bare hands. She had no case, no proof, and no backup. Going after Marasco was suicide.

She turned her eyes back to the store. The metal gate was an issue. She would have to find a way around it.

Frank was inside, or he'd left out the back. She got out of her car, crossing the street and walking down to the alley. She had to assume that Marasco would have surveillance of some kind. He'd be stupid not to, with all the police wanted him for, and she didn't need to get herself caught on it.

She used her phone to check for wifi signals and then activated a jammer. She wouldn't get any service here, but she didn't need it as much as she needed to keep Marasco from knowing she was ever there. She hurried down the alley, up to the back door. Marasco didn't seem to keep as much security here, which was a fortunate break for her because she didn't know how long she had.

She picked up the padlock holding the door in place. She almost wished she could break a window instead, but the small one on the door was blocked by metal security bars. She took out her picks and worked on the padlock. She knew she'd had better, more recordbreaking times in the past, but she got it open. Taking it off, she lifted the bar and pulled the door forward only to find another locked one behind it.

She rolled her eyes. She knew this guy was paranoid—with good cause, considering what he did for a living—but this was ridiculous. She picked the lock on the interior door in less time than the first, smiling grimly as she pushed it open. She moved forward, stepping over a suspicious reddish brown stain in the backroom.

She thought it could have been blood. Drawing in a breath, she tried not to think about what she'd have to tell Joe if that blood was Frank's. She let it out and started walking again. The store seemed almost ordinary. She'd seen little convenience stores and Mom and Pop's like it before in the past. The idea of Marasco maintaining something so mundane was almost impossible to believe, but it was an interesting cover all the same.

She shook her head. Aside from the backroom floor, she didn't see anything of interest here. She didn't think Frank had left from that back door, though. She'd seen enough signs of disuse there to suggest Marasco only came and went from the front.

She swallowed. Did she believe Bess and Joe enough to call out to Frank? Or should she try and pretend she'd never been here? If she left now, Marasco might never know. 

Except... where was the second floor? The ceiling was not that high. The store couldn't take up the entire building. She turned, hurrying back to the storeroom. There. She'd thought that door was just a closet before, but now... She opened it, looking at a small, narrow staircase. She didn't like the idea of going up there—only one person could go up and down at a time, so she'd be effectively trapped if Marasco came back.

She heard something from above her, a sort of thump, and she decided to risk it. She took the stairs as fast as she dared, emerging at the top into a one bedroom loft. The kitchen area hadn't been cleaned in days if not weeks, dishes piled everywhere on the counters and sink, and she thought she smelled rotting food. At least—she hoped it was rotting food.

Her eyes went to the other side of the room and what she suspected was the source of the thump. Frank. She didn't think he'd realized he'd been chained to the wall until he'd fallen off the bed, though the fact that he was moving at all seemed impressive. He'd taken one hell of a beating, with bruises darkening all over his face and the parts of his skin visible through the tears in his clothing. She didn't think there was much left of the shirt he'd worn to school today, and it wasn't like Marasco had held back in damaging the rest of him. If Frank wasn't bruised, he was bleeding.

“Frank?”

His eyes opened, struggling to focus on her. “Wha... Who... You... science...”

“Yeah, we didn't get properly introduced before. I'm Nancy,” she told him, kneeling next to him. She winced at getting a better look at some of the wounds. “I think we had better get you out of here. Your brother is very worried about you.”

Frank shuddered, and she figured that hurt him almost as much as his wounds did. “Late...”

“Yes. It took hours for Marasco to leave,” she agreed. She pushed aside a scrap of his shirt to get a better look at the mark on his side. She wouldn't be surprised if that one had caused damage on the inside. “And to do this, I assume.”

Frank nodded, tired and weak. She didn't know how much longer he would stay conscious. He could be dying right now. “Got... call...”

She looked up from her inspection of his leg wounds. She needed to know if he could walk or not—he shouldn't, but she wasn't delusional—she couldn't carry him. “Your brother said you didn't have a phone.”

Frank frowned at her. “What... Not... me. Marasco. Called... away... Not sure... how long...”

She nodded, though she could have smacked herself for her own suspicious nature. Marasco could come back at any time. “I know. I'm sorry. I was looking you over in case you had a wound we'd make worse if we moved you—I wish I had time to treat any of this, but we'll get you to a hospital—”

“Can't. Marasco... find...”

“You need treatment,” she said, and he opened his mouth to protest, but she shushed him. “But we can argue that later. First we have to get you out of here.”

“Key...” Frank said, moving his head toward the floor. Just outside of reach from where he fell was a small piece of steel that probably fit in the lock on his hands.

“Bastard,” Nancy said, and Frank snorted, but she was right—Marasco was a sadist, doing this to him and putting this key here just to mess with him. She picked it up and undid the locks, freeing his hands. “Come on. We need to see if we can get you on your feet. I'm fairly athletic, but I'm not that strong.”

Frank nodded, letting her help him up. The stairs would be difficult, and so would the alley, but she wasn't about to leave him behind.

* * *

“Nancy!” Bess opened the door to the Drew home, letting herself and Joe in. Most of the time, she had better manners, especially for Hannah, but this wasn't the time to be polite. Polite went out the window when Nancy was accusing people of thefts and assaults and ignoring the fact that Bess' friends were good people in trouble. “Where are you?”

“Look, I don't know who you think you are or what cases you've supposedly solved,” Joe began as he pushed past Bess and started up the stairs. “You're dead wrong about my brother, and if you don't tell me where you followed him to right now—”

“Joe... overreact... like... drama... queen.”

The sound of that voice, hoarse and pained, made Joe stop and turn back. Bess herself couldn't help staring. Nancy was almost covered by the guy, who looked more like someone about to turn in a zombie movie than alive, clothes tattered and bloodied.

“Frank!” Joe rushed over to his brother's side, helping him off Nancy. “What the hell? I thought—I don't know what I thought. You're a mess. You haven't looked this bad since that time Chet took us fishing but those pirates were out in the water and destroyed our boat and you ended up on the rocks and almost drowned—”

“More... ex... exaggerated... each... time.”

Joe snorted. He looked at Bess. “He should be resting. No, he should be in the hospital. Help me get him to your car—”

“You can't,” Nancy said, and Joe whirled, glaring at her. He started to argue with her, but Frank reached over and covered his mouth, looking like it was just about killing him to do it. “No, listen, please, before you freak out. I wanted to take him to the hospital as soon as I found him, but he disagreed. Before you start in on his stubbornness—he has a point. Marasco has a lot of connections, and any one of them could find Frank in the hospital. Still, I'm not a doctor. Frank needs more medical care than I'm capable of providing.”

“Urgent care,” Joe said, setting his brother down. “Those places are popping up everywhere these days, but I doubt they'd be high up on the list for the mob. But— _Marasco._ Frank, that guy is a killer. What were you thinking going back there?”

Frank leaned back on the couch, eyes closed. He looked bad, really bad, and Bess bit her lip, worried. Nancy came over to Joe's side.

“He went back for his belongings. They were all you two had left,” Nancy almost smiled as she said it. “He wouldn't leave without them, either. Said he'd already almost died for it, so he wasn't going without them.”

Joe winced. “Frank did have what was left of our money. Dad didn't trust me with it, so everything we had was in Frank's stuff. He managed to keep hold of it when they took us out of the hotel, that and Dad's notebook, but almost everything else got taken from us. Still, big brother, that was dumb of you.”

Frank groaned. “No reason... No way... know... Marasco knew... who... was...”

“Oh, hell, he _knew?_ What about the crap with the wrong name? Do you think Hausler sent you there on _purpose?_ Was she trying to get you killed?”

“What I'd like to know is how a known mob enforcer without a wife but with a record managed to get custody of anyone, even temporarily. Your social worker has a lot of explaining to do,” Nancy said. She looked over at the doorway as Hannah came through it. “Oh, thank you, Hannah, though I think we're going to need a lot more than that.”

Hannah nodded, giving Frank a worried glance as she set down the first aid kit and bowl of hot water on the table. Nancy took a rag out of the bowl and started ringing it out. The housekeeper watched her as she started cleaning up Frank's face, and then she turned to leave. Bess had to wonder if she was going to go to the nearest store and buy out everything in its first aid section. Maybe she could bring back a doctor, too.

“He's been in and out of consciousness since I found him,” Nancy said, being gentle as she wiped down Frank's face. Bess thought maybe Frank was no longer a suspect. She didn't see Nancy being this kind to someone she really believed had hurt Mr. Barron. “Which was fortunate because I couldn't have gotten him out if he hadn't done half the work, but still... I don't know...”

“Frank's too stubborn to die,” Joe said. His voice had bravado, but Bess thought he was trying to convince himself of that. “It's a Hardy thing. None of us go down easy.”

“Hardy?” Nancy asked, dropping the rag into the water. “As in... Fenton Hardy, the private investigator that disappeared a month ago and... You're his sons?”

Joe looked at her. “And they say you're a detective. Okay, sure, Frank's face is swollen and bruised right now, but he looks so much like Dad that even people who just saw Dad's picture somewhere would know Frank was his son. Me, I look like Mom, but you know... Someone's got to be the pretty one, and I don't mind it being me.”

“Shut... up,” Frank said with a groan, and he moved a hand ineffectually toward his brother. Bess knew the situation wasn't funny, but the two of them were cute, despite Frank being on death's door and everything.

Even Nancy was smiling. Then she remembered herself and went back to cleaning Frank up. She got the blood off his neck and started on his shoulder. Pushing back part of the rag Frank had on, she revealed another nasty looking bruise.

“Joe, Frank will need a change of clothes, and I think he'd prefer it if you were the one to find them for him. Pajamas or sweats would actually be better—except his shirt shouldn't be anything that has to be pulled over his head.”

“Oh, believe me, I know this drill,” Joe muttered, getting up. He pointed to his brother. “Don't do anything stupid like die on me the minute I'm out of the room.”

“Can't,” Frank said. “Haven't spent... entire life... making you... miserable... yet.”

Nancy and Bess both giggled, and Joe smiled.

* * *

“We have to get him to a doctor,” Joe said. He'd seen Nancy's efforts for Frank, and he was glad she'd tried, but even with what she knew and he knew of first aid, it wasn't enough. He might not be a doctor, but at least one of those bruises was bad enough to be internal bleeding, and the longer Frank went untreated for that, the more likely it was he'd die.

Nancy nodded. “I think this time he's actually going to stay out for a while, and now would be the time to move him. He'll start arguing with us again if he does wake, but hopefully we'll have him halfway to urgent care by then.”

Joe nodded. He would have done it sooner, but every time they tried to talk about it, Frank would fight them about it. He didn't have a lot of strength, and it was a lot better not to upset him, but they couldn't let him win that battle forever. “I can get him out to the car.”

“Good.”

Joe went to Frank's side, trying to get his brother up without hurting him or waking him. “One thing, though. Bess said you thought Frank was behind a break-in. That he hit a science teacher. Why would you help him if you thought all that?”

Nancy sighed. “I couldn't leave anyone like that, no matter what they'd done, and as for my suspicions... I'm not so proud as to deny that I've ever been wrong before. I have been. Sometimes the evidence points to people that it shouldn't or they have other things to hide that cloud the issue. Your brother was apparently in the wrong place at the wrong time, and then when I added in a few other things that seemed suspicious, I thought I'd better look into it for Bess' sake.”

Joe looked at her from under his brother's arm. “For Bess?”

“She really likes you. If you or your brother was involved in the thefts...”

“Oh.” Joe turned to Bess, expecting to see her blush or hear some kind of protest, but she was staring out the window, looking kind of pale. “Bess?”

“There are men outside. Big men. Scary men. I think they're mobsters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a couple different versions of Nancy rescuing Frank. One was where she just interrupted Frank and Marasco, another involved Joe and Bess being there, and a third was after more time had passed. This is what ended up happening. Because, well, Frank was too injured for this not to happen.


	7. New Directions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and the others try to do what's best for Frank while keeping everyone safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There was definitely a moment where I said, "oh, crap, you pushed Frank's injuries too far."
> 
> So, while I maintain I know nothing of medicine, I did a few quick searches and settled on this path. It may not be the most accurate, but it was the most plot serving one. That made it the obvious choice.

* * *

Joe set Frank back against the couch, a little worried by the fact that his brother was still out of it, but he pushed that aside as he crossed over to Bess, needing to see what she saw. Nancy had done the same, all of them peering out to get a look at the men Bess had spotted. He wanted to shout angrily at Nancy, blame her for all of this. He knew that she wasn't really at fault, but she must have done something that led the mob right to her front door. How else would they have found Frank so quickly? No one else knew where he was. No one should have connected him to Bess to Nancy so fast.

“Damn it,” Joe said, taking in the size of the one, only to hear Nancy laugh next to him.

“I think you just got a dose of your own medicine, Mr. Great Detective,” she teased, shaking her head at him. “That's not a mobster, though I suppose if you compared him to Marasco, you'd think he was—they're almost the same size—but you're actually looking at Jackson Monroe. He's a heavyweight prize fighter, and with him is Sam Alexander, his manager and former foster father. Monroe is a client of my dad's. He's representing him on a contract dispute.”

Joe let out a breath, shaking his head in a mixture of disbelief and relief. “You're sure? You're sure that guy isn't here for Frank?”

“I don't think so. There are always a lot of rumors about fixed fights and mob betting rings, but Dad says Monroe is clean and has worked very hard to stay that way. That's why he's having trouble with his contract,” Nancy explained. She stepped back from the window and looked over at Frank. “Even so, we'd better get Frank—and you—out of sight. The less people who know he's here, the better. We'll try and keep anyone from knowing for as long as we can.”

Joe sighed. “Yes, but we just got done saying we needed to get Frank to at least urgent care if not an emergency room. How are we going to do that with people here?”

Bess grimaced, and Nancy bit her lip, thinking. Joe wasn't sure what he should do. “Frank could probably tell you how to construct a poor man's x-ray machine, cook it up with things around your house, but he's the guy who knows that stuff. I'll help him build it when I can, but I'm not the one who does research into that kind of thing.”

“Maybe you don't have to be,” Nancy said. She smiled. “I think I know where we can find what we need to do just what you suggested, and if we can, then we might not have to move Frank again, which is probably for the best. You and Bess get him upstairs—use the guest bedroom on the left of mine—and Bess, my laptop is on the desk—”

“I know where it is,” Bess said, hurrying over to help Joe get Frank up. His brother was a heavy load for someone as skinny as he always seemed to be, but with Bess' help, Joe managed to find a way to get him moving just as the doorbell rang.

“Go, hurry,” Nancy said. “I'll stall, but you need to get him upstairs first.”

Joe nodded. He didn't want anyone making a move on Frank when he wasn't able to fight back. He lugged Frank up the stairs, not hearing so much as a peep from him, his worry growing by the minute. He wasn't sure they had enough time to build a makeshift x-ray machine.

“Here,” Bess said, leading him into one of the bedrooms. “This is the guest room. It's nice, actually. We all tend to camp on Nancy's bed when we do sleepovers, but this one is very comfortable.”

“You do sleepovers?” Joe asked, grinning at Bess as she flushed. He liked that. It was rather cute on her, and he made a note to see if he could do it again—not anything that would hurt her, just something that would make those cheeks pretty.

“We're all friends and have been for years. Besides, you already admitted you go into your brother's room when you can't sleep,” Bess said, and Joe almost glared at her before finding himself smiling instead.

“You know, you have this way of just... setting me at ease. I don't know what it is about you. How is it we're teasing and laughing and joking when Frank looks like this?”

“Sometimes we need something to lighten the mood in order to keep us going in the dark times,” Bess told him. “Trust me, Nancy has gotten us all in enough trouble to make me sure of that.”

Joe nodded, though when he looked back at Frank, he didn't feel at all light.

* * *

Leaving Hannah to keep Monroe and his manager occupied while they waited for her father, Nancy went upstairs, hoping that they had some way of helping Frank. She thought maybe their combined knowledge of first aid had been enough—surely if Frank was as injured as they feared, it would already be over.

She opened the door to the guest room and shut it quickly behind her, hoping to keep the sound of Joe and Bess arguing over homemade x-ray machines to herself. She didn't know that they'd be able to construct one, and she had to hope it wasn't necessary.

“Can you try and wake Frank now? We need to clarify some of his symptoms. A part of me hopes that if it is as bad as we fear, it would already have taken him—which I know sounds horrible, but it's a good thing, actually. And,” Nancy pulled the laptop from Bess and typed in a quick search key, pulling up a page on a trusted medical site. “We can't be sure, but this _does_ say that internal bleeding can resolve on its own. I'd feel a lot better if we could get Frank to a doctor—”

“But since that's almost as much of a risk as doing nothing, we might just have to wait it out and see,” Joe finished, grimacing. “I _hate_ doing nothing.”

“You should have seen him earlier. He about killed the Kings' lawn with his pacing,” Bess teased, amused, and Nancy knew that even if nothing romantic ever developed between her and Joe, Bess really did like him. They would be friends for life, she suspected, if not more.

“There is one thing,” Nancy began, knowing that no one was going to like this idea. “I think you and Bess had better leave.”

“What?”

Their voices were loud enough to stir Frank in his sleep. He didn't wake completely, but he shifted, letting out a low groan. At least he was still alive.

Nancy swallowed. She knew they didn't want to hear it, and she hated the idea of forcing Joe to leave with his brother in this condition, but she didn't think she could let him stay. “We're still hoping that I was able to avoid detection getting Frank from Marasco. If so, then he can't connect you and Bess to this place—or he _will_ get Frank. We need to pretend you have no idea where your brother is—or that he escaped. That means you have to go back to the Kings and act like Frank never showed and you didn't know where to find him. Remember—you don't know how connected your social worker is to this. She could check up on you, and if she does, she could tell Marasco you know. That puts you at risk as well as your brother.”

“So, what, I'm supposed to sit there and do nothing while Frank could be dying?” Joe demanded angrily. “I don't know who you are, but I don't _think_ so, okay? You are not—”

“It will also allow you to look into the Kings,” Nancy told him, getting a stare from him and outrage from Bess.

“Nancy, it's one thing to suspect people you don't know—and look how wrong you were about that—but you know the Kings. You've helped Ruth and Lizzie with their homework and—”

“I know,” Nancy broke in, trying to placate her friend. She'd been doing everything wrong lately, it seemed, and saving Frank hadn't earned much back in the positive side of her column. Everyone was mad at her, and she understood why, but it still hurt. As did being so very wrong about this. “Still, I can't help thinking that there had to be a reason why Joe ended up with the Kings. If Frank wasn't put in Marasco's house by accident, then we have to assume Joe's presence at the Kings was also a set up. It doesn't make sense—even if Marasco knew exactly who Frank was—that only one of them ended up with him. He'd have wanted both boys, not just one. That's not what happened.”

Joe folded his arms over his chest. “So you think the Kings are involved somehow? What, Linda's leg injury is fake?”

“No,” Nancy said, “but Mr. King _is_ an accountant. And what did they finally manage to arrest Al Capone on?”

“Tax fraud,” Joe said, though he thought he only knew that because of Frank. “All right. You have a point. Maybe two of them—and you've got me as annoyed as Frank does when he's being all logical about things I don't want to do—so... I guess I'll go with it. This time. But if anything changes in Frank's condition—and I mean _anything_ —you better tell me right away.”

Nancy nodded. “I will. I promise.”

* * *

“You're still worried about Frank, aren't you?” Bess asked as she drove back toward her house. Joe had been silent for most of the drive, and she knew no one could blame him for that. Frank's condition was bad, and with him staying unconscious for as long as he had after they moved him, anyone would be concerned.

“Yeah.”

Bess nodded. She knew that feeling herself, when Nancy or George got hurt during one of Nancy's cases, but she had a feeling it wasn't the same as what Joe knew now. Frank was his brother and at this point, all he had. Nancy was a good friend—the best—and George was her cousin, but they still weren't as close as Frank and Joe.

“What do you think you'll do to investigate the Kings?”

Joe grimaced. “Well, the most likely connection is the one that Nancy mentioned—the accounting. Frank probably would have thought of that himself if he wasn't dealing with Marasco. The trouble is that Mr. King never leaves his office. I haven't even met the guy yet. Linda always says not to bother him, but I think underneath that, she's pissed he won't lift a finger to help her with anything. At least the girls do what they can, but they're still kids.”

“Some kids grow up fast,” Bess said, thinking that for all Joe's jokes and laughter, he was one of them, just like Nancy was. And Frank.

“True, but they're still innocent enough. You help with that, letting them have their playdates and dress up. It's a good thing, Bess. It really is.”

Bess nodded. She turned onto her street. “I think I can help you.”

“I don't want to put you at risk. You saw what they did to my brother. They could be capable of doing anything. I won't let you get hurt.”

Bess smiled at him. “You're so sweet to worry.”

“I don't like the sound of that. That is how I tell Frank I'll be fine when I never am and then he gets to lecture me with that _I told you so_ and—”

“And Nancy has put us in danger before, so while I don't love it, I know what it's like. Sometimes I panic, but I don't think I need to, not this time. I'm just thinking that I can take Linda and the girls out for dinner. It's not that unusual for me to do it. You can tell Linda you want to stay behind because you're waiting for Frank, and then figure out some way to get Mr. King out of his office.”

Joe looked at her. “What, you don't already have a plan for that?”

Bess rolled her eyes. “I'm not doing all your work for you. Just know I'll take care of my part. You can figure out the rest. Just... be careful. No one wants you ending up like Frank.”

* * *

“You are supposed to be resting.”

Frank looked up at the words. Resting wasn't the word for what he had done—that much was true. After he came around, he'd made the mistake of reaching for the laptop someone had left near him, and he was still feeling that one. He frowned, trying to place the girl in front of him. With his injuries and going in and out of consciousness, he wasn't sure he knew who she was—or where he was. This room was much nicer than Marasco's place, that was true, but it could still be a prison, and he wasn't willing to stay in one.

Not that he had much choice about it.

“I thought... about trying... to escape,” he admitted, since he would have gone for the window or the door if he could have, but the laptop had almost been too far, “but my body... wouldn't let me. Where's Joe? He was... here, wasn't he? I thought I... remembered that, but everything... so jumbled right now...”

“Yeah, you took quite a beating,” she said, sitting down on the other side of the bed. “We were all afraid of internal bleeding and... Well, death.”

He nodded. “Understandable. It could... present itself later... not sure how far Marasco's reach extends. Hospitals are probably a bad idea.”

She seemed almost amused by his words. “You are very lucid for someone who couldn't stay conscious earlier.”

“That suspicious, too?” Frank asked, remembering something about an accusation. Joe had been angry about that. Frank might have been if he didn't know that he owed his life to that suspicion. This girl—Nancy—she'd gotten him away from Marasco, and he owed her, like it or not. “Look, I won't deny that I... hurt. I also don't much feel like... breathing because it hurts. Talking is... difficult, but I can manage. These aren't my first cracked ribs, and that was not my first beating. Joe and I have done this sort of thing enough where it's mostly... routine.”

Nancy shook her head. “What Marasco did to you was _not_ routine.”

Frank bristled. “Just because he chained me to the wall—”

“Your brother didn't see it as routine. He was scared. He's still scared. He's got a good brace face he's putting on it, but he is terrified.”

“I know,” Frank said. He closed his eyes for a moment. “Joe is... He took Dad's disappearance hard. I think... even if Dad was dead, Joe would... hard time accepting...”

“Only you don't believe your father is dead.”

“Dad cheats death... as much as... we do,” Frank told her. “I'd have to see it happen right in front of me to believe... even then... have doubts.”

She nodded. “That still doesn't explain you trying to use my computer while half-dead.”

Frank laughed, stopping quickly as pain went through his ribs. “Like... can afford to wait... to heal to end this. If they hadn't... locked us up... group home, we... already found Dad. Now...”

_Now it might be too late_ hung in the air, unsaid, but she took his meaning anyway. She lifted up a paper file he hadn't seen her with before. “Here. This could help.”

“What... is it?”

“Dad's file on your father and his disappearance,” Nancy answered. Frank stared at her, and she shrugged. “He's a lawyer. He keeps track of these sorts of things, and I tend to help him when I can. In fact, I think we might be able to use Dad's connections to get another look at your father's things.”

“You can get Dad's files?”

“Maybe. Dad has a lot of friends and people owe him favors. Calling one in is a bit of a risk—could let them track this back to me—they'd find you—but if we knew exactly what your father was investigating before he disappeared, we might find him or something to tell us why Marasco was so bent on hurting you. We have to get you out of foster care if you're going to be safe, and the best way to do that is to find your father.”

Frank studied her for a moment. “I think... I could like you... Nancy.”

She flushed. “Well, I...”

“If you get me Dad's files.”


	8. Limited Progress

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe investigates the Kings. Nancy recruits help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since the kids have never met, I'm going with the idea that there is no "old friendship" between Carson Drew and Fenton Hardy. I assume they know of the other's professional reputations and that's about it.

* * *

_Think, Joe,_ he urged himself, staring at Mr. King's closed office door again. He knew the man was in there and alive, but he almost _never_ seemed to come out of there, and Joe wasn't sure that anything short of lighting a fire would make him do it. Only that was going to get him kicked out of his foster home and wouldn't be enough to tell him what he needed to know about King and his possible mob connections. Joe _had_ to get to those files.

Wait. The man _did_ have to eat. He never did with his family, but Joe had heard Linda tell him that the food was outside his door before. She sometimes left a pitcher of something there—coffee, tea, or water—for the guy, too.

That was perfect. Now Joe knew just what to do, he thought as he hurried back to the bathroom.. Bess had done her part, as promised, and the house was free of anyone but him and Mr. King. King would know Joe did it—or suspect it—but then he might not even know, not if Joe could find—ah, that was it. Mrs. King kept her medication dangerously in reach of the twins, but Joe knew her pain was real and he couldn't blame her for wanting easier access, not when he'd seen her struggling to get around the house. Now if he made a couple of these heavy duty pain pills disappear into King's food, the guy would be asleep soon enough.

Joe had to hope it would be long enough to get him through the files. This would be easier with Frank—he had his own shorthand and could generally work out other people's and Joe just knew that the books he needed would be in some kind of code.

He crushed up the pills and grimaced. No way was he going to get away with putting them in water or anything close to clear. He went to the fridge and pulled out a jug of milk, pouring a glass of it and adding in the pills.

He returned the milk to the fridge and went to the cupboards, flipping through three of them before he stumbled onto what he needed. Oatmeal cookies. Not Joe's favorite by any means, but he remembered Ruth and Lizzie discussing their nastiness and how it was so weird that their dad loved them. Only he got to eat them—and only he wanted to.

Joe put a few on a plate and took it with the glass to the office door. He set them down and knocked on it.

“Go away.”

“Mr. King? Linda asked me to make sure I got these to you while she was gone. I guess... they're your favorites? Anyway, I almost forgot, but they're outside the door for you.”

Joe walked away, ducking into the nearest room so he could observe the doorway without being seen. He only had to wait a couple minutes before King opened the door. Grinning like a cartoon bad guy, he rubbed his hands together and bend to pick up the cookies, laughing as he did. Joe frowned, feeling a little weird—was he _not_ supposed to have cookies? Special diet? Would that give Joe's plan away? Or was there some other reason he giggled like a madman when eating cookies?

He shook his head. He really was getting paranoid. He just needed to give those pills a little while to kick in and then he could go look at those books. He needed to see them.

He heard the phone ring, and he frowned, not sure if he dared answer it, but then while he still didn't have a cellphone, he did remember demanding that Nancy call him if there was any change in Frank. Joe dove for the phone, yanking it off the receiver.

“King residence.”

“You sound so official,” Bess said, giggling. “It's cute.”

Joe rolled his eyes. “You think I'm such a loser, don't you?”

“Please. I just said you were cute. That does not a loser make,” Bess muttered, adding in something about _boys_ under her breath. “Ruth and Lizzie say you have to finish that story when we get back—you know, because sleeping prince charming is awake and less than charming.”

Joe rubbed his forehead, about to ask Bess what the hell she was talking about when he understood. Nancy had let Bess know that Frank was awake. He let out a breath. “Really? Because I heard he was always a gentleman.”

“I bet he is,” Bess said. “I look forward to hearing more of the story myself.”

“Yeah, well...”

“I'm sorry you couldn't come with us,” Bess went on like they were having a normal conversation. “Has your brother shown up yet?”

“No. I'm more than a little worried, Bess. This isn't like Frank.”

“I'll bring you back something from the restaurant. Something for him, too. I'm sure he's just running late, Joe. It happens.”

Marasco happens, too, Joe thought darkly. He figured he sounded plenty convincing if people were listening to him. “Yeah, sure, thanks.”

He hung up and headed back to the office door. He gave it a quick knock. “Mr. King? I almost forgot I'm supposed to make sure the dishes end up in the sink. Mr. King?”

He got no answer, so he pushed open the door and smiled. His plan had worked. Now all he had to do was find proof that King was a mob accountant.

* * *

“Nancy?” George called after Hannah let her into the house. Nancy's text had said to come on over and let herself in, but Hannah wasn't the type of woman to let _that_ happen. She smiled at George before pointing at the stairs.

George thanked her and headed up, curious in spite of herself. She didn't know what to make of that text, and since Nancy was pretty bent on this investigation into Mr. Barron's attacker and Bess' new neighbor, she figured it had to do with one or two of those things, but Nancy had been strangely cryptic about the whole thing, like she was expecting someone to be monitoring her communications.

It was Nancy. The idea wasn't that far-fetched.

George frowned. Nancy's door was open, and it was clear she wasn't in her room. The place was spotless, not even a bit of homework scattered about or forgotten laundry. Hannah had cleaned today, and Nancy had yet to use the room since then. George turned. She knew Nancy didn't spend much time in her father's bedroom, so... Guest room? The door was shut, but that didn't mean anything.

She pushed open the door and stopped. Nancy was on the bed, next to a guy, and he definitely wasn't wearing a shirt. George could see bare shoulders even with Nancy blocking part of him, and she knew that wasn't Ned because Ned didn't have any scars on his shoulder.

“Okay, what gives? Not to sound like Bess, but isn't it a little weird for you to be sharing a bed with a guy when you won't even give Ned one date despite his persistence?”

Nancy's cheeks were redder than her hair. “George! It's not like that. It's... It's so not what you think, and as for Ned, he's very sweet and I _do_ like him, but I'm not sure I'm ready for a boyfriend right now, and it wouldn't be fair because I already don't keep my appointments with you and Bess, and what guy would really want that?”

“The right one would understand it, though that assumes a lot about the male of the species in general,” George observed. “Which still doesn't explain why there is a guy in your bedroom when you supposedly can't do that because of your mysteries.”

“I can't,” Nancy said. “I would think you would understand. This is the sort of conversation I expect from Bess, not you.”

“...Kidding?” George heard a hoarse voice ask, followed by a low groan. “...Good grief... worse than Joe...”

Nancy laughed and shook her head as she turned back to her companion. “Come on. I've seen how much your brother flirts with Bess. I don't think so.”

“Wait. You're Bess' neighbor's brother? I thought Nancy suspected you of attacking Mr. Barron,” George said, frowning again. Then she got a better look at Frank's condition. “Damn. Did you do that to him, Nancy?”

“What?” Nancy demanded, again red in an almost comical way, and George thought her new friend might actually be enjoying this a little. Honestly, so was she. “No. I didn't—I couldn't—that was his foster father. He's lucky I suspected him or no one would have known where to rescue him before the guy finished what he started.”

“Your foster father did this?” George asked, anger getting to her. She didn't like bullies, and she didn't like people who abused kids and she didn't like people who made a joke of what the foster care system was supposed to be. “I oughta—”

“...Mob enforcer... suspect twelve... deaths. Bad idea.”

George's eyes widened, and she whirled back to Nancy, who nodded. “Somehow, Frank got placed with Vincente Marasco. We're currently trying to find a connection between his social worker and the mob. This could have been a one time thing—she might have been bribed or intimidated into it—Marasco did know who Frank was.”

Looking the boy over, George swallowed. “Just how sick is this guy?”

Frank shuddered. “...Vendetta... my father...”

“Apparently Frank looks a lot like him. You should recognize the name from the papers—Fenton Hardy.”

“That private detective that went missing? Bess kept trying to use him as a reason why you should give up mysteries and marry Ned.”

Frank groaned again. George shrugged. Bess had held onto Disney fairy tales longer than the rest of them. She kept expecting Nancy to be like Snow White when she was a lot more like Mulan.

Nancy ignored George's words. “It's possible Fenton is still alive. We'll have to find him if we can. In the meantime, we need your help. Obviously, Frank won't be able to leave here any time soon, but we can't let anyone find out he's here. He's not safe. Marasco wants him dead—”

“Being here... everyone at risk,” Frank said, looking sick. “Uh... Nancy...”

Nancy scrambled across the bed and grabbed a bowl for him just in time to keep him from puking all over himself and the bed. He shivered through a couple dry heaves and then lay still, looking pained as well as pale.

“Sorry.”

Nancy set aside the bowl, picking up a cloth. She wiped down Frank's face. “It's fine, Frank. You didn't ask for this, and I still wish we could get you better medical care than mine. Also—I think you have to stop trying to use the laptop. It's making you sick.”

“Can't... do... nothing...”

“I'm going to see if I can get your father's files. Those are printed. They'll be easier for you to deal with, and you have a better idea of how his mind works. You just rest now. I told Bess to tell Joe you were awake, but I'm sure he's still worried about you.”

George folded her arms over her chest. “I take it I'm staying with him while you're gone?”

“Relax, George, he doesn't bite.” Nancy managed a brief, sheepish smile. “I was very wrong about Frank, and I admit that. You're safe with him. I'm not so sure it's true the other way around.”

George nodded. In Frank's current state, he was easy pickings. He needed someone to watch over him or he would end up dead. “I'll stay.”

Frank pointed to the laptop. “Hausler... financials...”

“For the last time, Hardy, you are not going to hack into bank,” Nancy said, shaking her head. “Don't let him talk you into it, okay, George? We don't need to get arrested.”

George waved her off before sitting down on the edge of the bed. “So I guess you are a bit of a troublemaker after all.”

He rolled his eyes. “That's Joe. Hands full... with him. Need see... if Hausler... paid.”

“Well, this is definitely the most interesting babysitting gig I've ever had.”

Despite his injuries, Frank threw a pillow at her, and George laughed. She liked this guy.

* * *

“Why the sudden interest in Fenton Hardy?” Carson asked, frowning at his daughter, and Nancy wished she didn't have such a smart man for a father. He saw through her just when she _didn't_ want him to—how was she going to explain Frank and the mess with Marasco? Yes, Hannah knew, but Nancy didn't think Hannah would do anything to put Frank at risk, not after seeing what Marasco had done to him. “It's very late, Nancy. Don't you know that?”

“I do, Dad, but this is important,” Nancy said. She held back what Marasco had done to Frank, wanting that to use as bargaining chip if she couldn't get what she needed without it. “Did you know he had sons? They were with him in Chicago when he disappeared.”

“I don't remember that being in the paper,” Carson said, his tone suspicious.

Nancy didn't remember reading about them, either, but she didn't doubt Frank or Joe. Not in this case. Joe was right—his brother bore a strong resemblance to Fenton, and that she could still see even with his injuries. “Maybe not, but I've met them.”

Carson studied her with a frown. “You've met them?”

“They go to my school. One of them is Bess' neighbor.”

“One of them?” Carson asked. “Why only one of them?”

“The boys got split into two different homes,” Nancy said. She knew she was being horrible, but she also figured it would get her father on her side quickly, without telling him she'd possibly made herself a mob target or that Frank was upstairs. That wouldn't stay hidden forever, but if her father tried to do the responsible, legal thing for Frank, they might all end up in a lot of trouble. “Isn't that awful? First they lose their dad, then apparently their mom _and_ aunt, and now they don't even have each other. They're separated in strange homes in a strange city and—”

“And you think if you can find Fenton Hardy, you can reunite him with his sons and make everyone happy again?”

She blushed. “Well... Maybe not, but don't they at least deserve to know the truth? It has to count as something against all this.”

Carson sighed. “You know what Hardy was doing was dangerous. It got him killed.”

“Unless they were supposed to find his car so that they'd think he was dead,” Nancy said. “Though I can't imagine a father who would do that to his sons, could you?”

From what Frank and Joe had said about working with their father, she thought it was more possible that was just what had happened. Fenton would count on his boys not believing in his death and working to find him or his killers. That meant he was willing to risk his son's lives just as much as his own—a sentiment that Nancy knew Carson didn't share at all when it came to her. In fact, her emotional manipulation was working. She could already tell.

“No, Nancy, I can't. Though... Maybe if he did, he thought the boys would be safe with their mother. That might not have been something he could have predicted. Still, that doesn't make any of this a safe or wise course,” Carson said. “I don't think you should get involved.”

 _Way too late for that, Dad._ “What if... I promise only to look at Hardy's files and ask the boys what they think of them? That's not that dangerous. Any insights they have might help the police.”

“Don't you think that they already asked for the boys' help?”

Nancy looked at her father. “How many times have you told me that the police outside River Heights wouldn't be as agreeable as Chief McGinnis and wouldn't like my interference? Do you really think the police in Chicago cared what a couple of teenage boys could tell them about their father's files? They probably assume Frank and Joe know nothing of their father's work or they would have died with him.”

Carson considered that. “I can make some calls and see about getting you access to the files. But—and this is a big but—I don't want you running off after mobsters or anything like that. You ask the boys what they know. That's all.”

Nancy nodded. She wasn't planning on doing more than that anyway—not yet. “Okay. Is it all right if George stays the night? We haven't finished our project yet.”

“Yes, that's fine. Just go to bed at a decent time for once. I don't know how you get any sleep when you're always chasing a mystery.”

Nancy laughed, leaning over to give her father a kiss goodnight.

* * *

_“I'll say one thing for you, kid. You know how to take a punch. Grown men have screamed louder than you,” Marasco said with a laugh, running his fingers over his knuckle. “You'd think I just tapped you or never touched you at all.”_

_It didn't feel like a tap, but Frank wasn't in the habit of giving sadists what they wanted, either. He wouldn't beg. He knew it wouldn't work, and he wasn't going to play Marasco's game. This wasn't about what Frank knew. Marasco wasn't trying to get him to talk. This was some kind of sick game, and Marasco enjoyed inflicting pain._

_“Thanks.”_

_Marasco laughed. “You're still way too damn cocky, though. You know what we do with boys like you who don't know their place?”_

_“Give them directions?” Frank almost winced. That was such a Joe line._

_“You're going to learn your place, Frankie,” Marasco said, leaning into him and putting a hand on Frank's already bruised side. If he pushed, there was a good chance he was going to get that scream he wanted from Frank. “And I'm going to show you it.”_

_“Get off of me,” Frank said with what little bravado he had left, though it sounded a lot more like begging, and Marasco seemed to agree, judging by that grin. “Get off!”_

“Frank?”

He swallowed. The room was dark but warm, and he could feel the softness of blankets and a mattress beneath him. That wasn't much help considering where Marasco had left him, but he thought he could tell the difference—if only by the smell, though the voice helped, too. That voice was feminine and definitely not Marasco's. It took him a minute to place it. George had been the last one with him before he fell asleep again, but that wasn't her.

“Nancy?”

“Yeah,” she said, and he heard a rattle before the lamp next to the bed came on. He blinked at the sudden brightness. “Sorry. You were having a bad dream. Fortunately, Dad and Hannah can sleep through quite a bit. Not sure I can say the same for me or George, but then we were a lot closer to you.”

“Sorry.”

She smiled. “Hey, I'd have nightmares if I'd gone through what you did. It's not your fault. And we're okay with it. Really.”

Frank rolled his eyes. “Sure you are.”

Nancy shrugged. He didn't think she let much bother her—not unless it had to do with her cases. He wasn't so sure he'd be as comfortable as she seemed to be if their situations were reversed. Especially not in pink pajamas with bunnies on them. “George said you were stubborn enough to make me a suspect list.”

He snorted, grimacing when his ribs flared up again. He'd really like to go back to breathing normally. “It's a list... every male... your school... dark hair. That doesn't... narrow... much. Barron... could... hit by a woman. If he'd... bent over...”

Nancy nodded. “Still... You didn't have to.”

Frank decided to give her a bit of a hard time since he was still unable to do much else. “Just wanted... see how many... others... could have been.. since you singled _me_ out fast.”

“Hey! I almost ran into you in the hall after I chased Barron's attacker that way. Your behavior was suspicious. Of course, now I know why, but at the time, I thought there was a possibility, and I needed to make sure it wasn't you.” She flushed. “Especially since Bess likes your brother so much.”

Frank nodded. “Probably would have done something similar in the opposite position.”

“See? Great minds think alike.”

He considered saying something about being insulted by that, but he didn't. His ribs were hurting again, and it was getting harder to ignore, especially with all the talking he'd done. “Think I can... something for the pain?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you.”

“You were already asleep by the time I got done talking to my dad, but he said he'd try and get me the files in the morning. And I'm hoping Barron will be awake so I can get a better description of his attacker—and Joe may have something on Mr. King by then.”

“Busy day.”

“Yeah, but I suspect you wouldn't have it any other way if you were on your feet.”

“That's Joe. I actually like the quiet.”

“Sure you do. That's when you worry the most.”

Frank stared after her as she left the room. He knew that they were both detectives, and she'd been horribly wrong about him and the Barron thing, but somehow she still managed to know him a lot better than he liked.


	9. Making Accusations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe relates his work for Bess. Nancy visits Mr. Barron in the hospital.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I like dialogue. Too much. Apparently, I'd rather write characters explaining what they did than write them doing it.
> 
> Still... if I'd written Joe's part, it would have been one boring paragraph, so... conversations it is.
> 
> On the bright side, even though I am behind because of company, I managed to expand my collection of supermysteries. I will try and reread them when I can. :)

* * *

“Well?” Bess asked, cornering Joe first chance she got. She wished they had any of the morning classes together. It would have been so much nicer if they did. She had been impatient to ask him about last night, but she couldn't call the house to ask—Joe needed a cellphone, but even then, Nancy would probably say it wasn't safe to use them.

“Well, what?” Joe asked, frowning at her. She saw a hint of something in his eyes, knowing he was teasing her. She hit him.

“You know what. Did you find anything?”

Joe looked around the cafeteria. The place was full of kids eating and goofing off, and she couldn't see anyone watching them, though that didn't mean there wasn't. She wasn't as good at spotting them as Nancy or even George was, but Joe seemed to relax a little after he finished eying the room. He didn't find anything, or so Bess assumed.

“I don't know,” he finally said. “I was able to get a look at Kings' files, but I'm not sure what any of them mean. I get basic numbers and sums and all, but King has it in shorthand or code, and I haven't been able to figure it out. Frank is better at that sort of thing, usually does the codebreaking for us. He's even better at math. I can pick out patterns, but figuring out who is who and if the books are for the mob... that's something else.”

Bess nodded. “It's not like he would make it obvious. 'This is mob money.' Yeah, sure.”

“What you're probably looking for is two sets of books that are almost identical and yet different,” George said as she joined them. “One for the legitimate money, the other for the stuff that... isn't.”

Joe gave her a look. “Not that I asked you, but I _did_ look for that. I'm not new at this. I've investigated a case or two in my time. None of the files were blatantly suspicious, so I made copies of a few of them. About then, King started waking up, so I figured I'd better leave.”

“Well, I can go by Nancy's if you want,” George offered. “It would just look like I forgot one of my textbooks and need it for class later.”

Joe frowned. “Why would I turn my evidence over to you?”

“Relax,” Bess said. “George is my cousin and has helped Nancy on plenty of cases. She can be trusted.”

“Besides, I already know your brother is there,” George said, a smile crossing her lips. “He does not enjoy being babysat, either.”

Joe smiled back at her. “Yeah, Frank is kind of a bear when he's grumpy. Or sick. Or injured. And I don't mean the teddy bear kind. Then he feels so guilty about it afterward—it's actually kind of funny.”

Bess wanted to smile, but then she stopped. “Wait—aren't we all supposed to be pretending we don't know where Frank is? I know he didn't show up to class today, right? So why aren't you freaking out and why are we all laughing? People will know that we know where he is.”

“My turn to tell _you_ to relax,” Joe said. “I've had a good act all day. I even got kicked out of my first period for fidgeting too much. And I am about to make _another_ call to my social worker about Frank. I've got it covered.”

“I'm sure you do,” Bess told him, and George groaned.

“I am so out of here,” she muttered. Then she stopped. “The files, Hardy. If you want me to pass them on to Frank, now's the time.”

Joe opened his bag and took out a folder. He started to hand it to George and stopped. “He really is okay, isn't he?”

She nodded. “He is, I promise. He was driving Nancy crazy trying to solve your father's case. And hers. He gave her a suspect list for the break-in here.”

Joe smiled. “That's my brother.”

* * *

“Mr. Barron?” Nancy asked, knocking on the door as she did.

He looked over at Nancy, and she forced a smile as she came in the door. She hadn't forgotten about him or the break-in, but she had shifted her focus when her main suspect was innocent and embroiled in a case of his own. Fenton Hardy's disappearance was more intriguing than what had happened at her school. She found herself torn, wanting to be working that case when this one was still unresolved.

It was more urgent, in some sense, because Frank couldn't hide in her guestroom forever. He'd almost died, and it seemed that Mr. Barron was already well on the road to recovery after his concussion. He'd probably assign her more lab work, too, since she'd missed the makeup one.

“Hello, Nancy.”

Barron had never been Nancy's favorite teacher, and he wasn't the friendliest one in the school, but he was being rather cold right now. She forced a smile anyway. “I wanted to see how you were doing. I wasn't able to do much for you when I found you.”

“I'm fine enough,” Barron said. He shifted in his bed, and she thought he wanted to leave, though not necessarily because he disliked the hospital. Her presence seemed to bother him. “They say they'll let me out of here today. Just a minor bump on the head.”

Something about the way he said that had Nancy thinking that it was no prank or ordinary theft. Barron had been hit on purpose and he likely knew his attacker. He'd hidden that from her before, and he was planning to do it again now.

“I wondered if maybe you got a good look at the person who hit you,” Nancy began. She watched Barron's expression, seeing him hesitate before answering. Definitely suspicious. Why would he lie about it? Was he that afraid? Or was he ashamed?

“I did,” he said. “And I told the police already.”

He didn't want to tell her. That was strange. She knew not everyone liked her working cases, but he knew she was a detective. He should know she could help him. “If it's a student, I'll spot him before the police do. I can let them know where he is.”

“Sure,” Barron agreed, though he didn't sound pleased. “Though I don't think he was a student—Not that he was too old to be one, but I'd never seen him before. He was maybe six foot, little taller. Thin frame but not too skinny. Dark hair. Dark eyes. He had a shirt that was... blue. No, green. It had something about a bay on it.”

Nancy frowned. Barron's description matched Frank Hardy—right down to the shirt he'd worn yesterday. She knew because he'd grumbled about liking it when she tore what was left of it off. Bayport High Athletics. He was apparently on multiple teams, as was Joe, though Nancy didn't know how they balanced that with cases.

Still, how many other students could fill that description? Not even a quarter of the list Frank had made. None of them would be wearing a shirt about a bay in this landlocked place.

“Okay,” Nancy said, taking out her phone and pretending to make notes on it. She thought about sending a text to someone, but she didn't. This was better done in person. She smiled at Barron. “I'm sure we'll find him in no time.”

Why would Barron accuse Frank? How did he even know to do it? Who put him up to it? Someone had to be setting Frank up, but why? Yesterday she would have considered this proof of Frank's guilt. She thought about the people who knew that she was investigating him—Bess, George, Ned, Joe, and Frank. None of them would have wanted to frame Frank. They'd want to clear him. So did she. 

She had to know why Barron wanted him to be guilty.

* * *

“I need to know what you were doing in Barron's lab.”

Frank blinked, trying to place a few things before processing that question. He had to go through the whole thing—the pain was because of Marasco. He was in the guest bedroom of Nancy Drew's house. He must have dozed off again, and he hated how disorienting it was to wake up like this. He had to fight off panic, thinking he was either still with Marasco or worse. 

“What?”

“Yesterday, when we first met, you were in Barron's lab,” Nancy said, sitting down on the edge of the bed. She seemed troubled, and he didn't like it. He almost sat up, but one slight push from his hand made everything flare with renewed pain, and he stopped. “Why?”

His gaze narrowed on her. He wasn't sure he should care that she was upset. “You suspect me again? I thought... we went over this... I don't appreciate... the accusation. I had... no reason... go after... your science teacher... or break into that lab.”

Nancy winced. She shook her head. “I'm sorry. That came out wrong. I wasn't trying to accuse you again, I swear. It's just...”

He didn't think he believed her. “What?”

“Mr. Barron deliberately gave me a description of you,” she told him, and Frank could only frown at her. “He described you exactly as you were yesterday. I'm just trying to understand why he would implicate you. I didn't—I don't—I didn't think it was you, Frank. I swear I didn't, but I can't understand why he would say it was you. He shouldn't even _know_ you.”

Frank had to agree with that. Barron accusing him made no sense. He'd never even met the man. “If it was just... someone who looked... like me, I'd say... maybe... spotted my dad somehow—”

“He said it was a young man,” Nancy said. “He meant you. He even knew what you were wearing yesterday—he said a young man, your height with dark hair and eyes—and a green shirt with something about a bay.”

Frank shook his head. “I don't know him. He wasn't... my teacher... I never met him. I went into that lab... for the exact reason... I told you—I dropped... the aspirin bottle... It rolled inside. I know... sounds like... bad lie, but... it's the truth. Marasco bumped me... first night... my side was killing me, but I couldn't... get the bottle... open... dropped it.”

“I didn't believe that story when you told me it yesterday,” Nancy admitted. “I thought you'd come back to the scene of the crime and if you were hurting, that Barron had managed to fight back and hurt you when you attacked him.”

“Nice,” Frank muttered, but she leaned across the bed to touch his hand.

“I know better now, and I _am_ sorry. It was just adding up to seem like you, and I had to investigate it no matter what. For Bess.” 

“Yes, but even if... it _did_ add up, why... would Barron accuse me?” Frank asked, trying to wrap his head around that one. “It doesn't... make sense. He couldn't know... you suspected me.”

“Someone could have told him,” Nancy said, though she looked doubtful. “I can't see who, though. I only spoke of my suspicions to Bess, Ned, and George. You and Joe know because of what happened to you. Someone could have overheard, I suppose, but it seems so unlikely...” 

“Do we think... he has... connection to Marasco... or the mob?”

“Maybe. It's hard to say,” Nancy began, leaning back as she considered it. “There's never been any sign of it, but then that's assuming that all mobsters are Italian or some other ethnic group and speak with accents and wise guy talk, which isn't true. And the connection could be something like gambling, him owing a loan shark... I don't know. I don't see why he would lie about this—if he'd made someone up, I could understand it more, but he accused you specifically. His whole behavior while I interviewed him was strange.”

“If he was connected... to the mob or Marasco... he might want... to discredit me,” Frank said. “Think am... only living witness against... him... I didn't... I'm almost certain... I walked in... after he killed someone... I didn't see... the body... just the blood.”

Nancy let out a whistle. “You didn't say that before.”

Frank shrugged, regretting it almost as much as he did talking. He would like that to be easier, and he knew it was coming, but he couldn't heal fast enough for his liking. “I didn't see... anything much. Just a stain... looked like blood. Then... he attacked me.”

She looked at him. “Frank...”

“I will live,” he said quietly. He knew that look and that tone of voice. Joe had it a lot when Frank got hurt, that mix of worry and fear and desperate but futile wish to fix it or take away all the pain.

She nodded. “Dad said he would get your father's files, but he hasn't come home yet. I wasn't going to come here myself, but when Barron accused you, I couldn't help it. You don't recognize his name at all?”

Frank shook his head. “No, but I didn't see... much of the files. Dad was... secretive about this case. He told us... just to play tourist... and we did... a little... but it didn't take... long... for him... get in trouble. By then... the police... took his files as evidence. They didn't care... didn't ask... for our opinions on them.”

“They were wrong. They should have asked.”

He studied her. “Since when do you have that high of opinion of me?”

She smiled. “I looked you up earlier. Seems the Hardy boys have become almost as famous as their father.”

He  figured if he was flushed it was because he was feverish. “Apparently, so does Nancy Drew.... or so I read.”

She was definitely blushing. Her face resembled her hair. A knock on the door frame startled them both, and Nancy jumped. Frank had only jerked, but he paid for it with a new wave of pain that forced him to bit his lip to keep from crying out.

“Am I interrupting something?” George asked, raising an eyebrow.

“No,” Nancy said, though she seemed somewhat flustered. Clearing her throat, she said, “Frank and I were discussing a new development in the case and what to do about it. Barron accused him of being the one who attacked him.”

George frowned. “Barron never even met Frank.”

“Exactly,” Nancy said. She turned back to Frank. “I think we need to find out what Hausler's connection is to all of this.”

“She does seem to... manipulate things. Me in... Marasco's house. Joe in Kings' house. And Barron... at the school.” Frank frowned. A crazy thought had just occurred to him. He didn't want to believe it, but it could be possible. “What do you... know about Barron?”

“Not much. Want to do some research?”

“I thought... banned from computer.”

“You are,” George agreed, crossing the room to get closer to the bed. “I'm not sure these figures won't give you a headache, but Joe swears you're a good codebreaker and would understand King's shorthand, so here. He got some of the guy's books and wants you to see if you can find proof the guy is working for the mob.”

Frank looked at the file. “Took... accounting books?”

“No, he made copies. He was safe enough, or so he swears. He's even keeping up appearances, harassing your social worker because you haven't shown up.”

Frank winced. “Joe might just have created a lot of trouble for all of us.”


	10. Stubbornness and Small Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Bess plan on some shopping to cover his tracks. Frank, Nancy, and George continue looking into the files.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With my work schedule and house full of company, I wasn't able to get any writing done. I am sorry I had to delay my updates. I finally have one, but I don't think I can manage two since I have to work early.
> 
> Anyway, here is an update. Enjoy, perhaps?

* * *

“This is so frustrating,” Joe muttered, shaking his head. He didn't want to pretend anymore. He couldn't stand not seeing Frank for himself. Everyone _said_ he was fine, but that wasn't the same. Joe couldn't _see_ his brother, and that made it difficult to stay calm. Frank had been hurt before—lots of times, actually, though he claimed it was less than Joe because he wasn't as impulsive—but when Frank got hurt before, Joe wasn't alone. He'd have his dad, his mom, Aunt Gertrude, or one of their friends with him. Chet, Biff, Tony, all the guys... Joe missed them as well.

Bess put a hand on his arm. “I know it is, but the important thing is that Frank is okay.”

Joe nodded. He tried to tell himself to be patient, but he had never been that good at it. “I wish there was a way we could arrange to see him again. I mean, it _is_ possible they could already know, but since I've kept my distance from Nancy and her house—”

“And Nancy went to see Mr. Barron today so I'm pretty sure everyone thinks that's the only case she's on,” Bess added, and Joe hoped that wasn't a bad thing. Nancy being a detective was a strange complication. Frank would know how to do damage control on that end—or if they even _needed_ to—but Joe wasn't sure how to cover it.

“Yeah, but we _were_ her suspects, weren't we?”

Bess shrugged. “Frank was, not you, and only a few of us knew that. Me, George, Ned, and Nancy. You and Frank found out later.”

“Yeah, but I overheard you on the phone. I might not have been the only one.”

She tensed. “Well, we can't be sure. I know I wasn't as quiet as I should have been because _you_ heard me, but then again, the girls were off in my room with my clothes. I was outside with you. I don't think _they_ heard me.”

“But we were outside,” Joe said, and Bess frowned at him. He sighed before explaining, “we were almost right in front of the office Mr. King uses. Last night the window was closed, but it could have been open when we were talking. I mean... Maybe he wanted to keep an eye on his kids. Or maybe he doesn't trust me. He was awful weird about the cookies, though.”

Bess frowned. “What about the cookies?”

“I gave him oatmeal cookies when I drugged his milk to get into his office. He giggled like a crazy person when I did.”

“He does really like those cookies,” Bess said. “Still, it is strange. How many did you give him?”

“Seven or eight. I wanted to make sure he drank the milk.”

“Oh,” Bess laughed. “That explains things. Linda doesn't make them—she buys them. Since she can't get to the store that often, she only gives him one or two at a time. That many cookies all at once must have seemed like some kind of dream. He must have been laughing because you didn't know to ration them out.”

Joe winced. “Yeah. I guess I better replace the ones I gave him, too, since Linda will probably notice that many were gone.”

“We can go by the store after school.”

“I'd rather go now,” Joe said, giving the brick a dark look. He didn't want to be here. He was sick of this place, and he wanted his home. He wanted his father back, his mother and aunt, and his friends. He did not want to stay in Chicago _or_ River Heights anymore. The only good part of this place was Bess.

Bess forced a smile. “I've only ever cut class when Nancy wanted help with a case.”

“Well, then,” Joe said with a grin. “That's something we can change, isn't it?”

* * *

“Should we go after Joe, then?”

Frank shook his head, surprising Nancy and George at the same time. He shifted on the bed, pain crossing his face as he did. Nancy wished she could do more to help him, and she would—after he explained himself. She wanted to know why he wouldn't go rushing to his brother's side. Joe had been willing to do it—he _had_ done it, since he'd come here to confront Nancy.

“As much as... want to protect... Joe...” Frank swallowed, his hand on his side. She thought his ribs were bothering him the most. She could try rewrapping them as well as making sure he had another dose of painkillers. “Confronting Hausler... shows... hand. And... it might... safer... if no one connects... you to him... other than through... Bess.”

George frowned. “You seem worse, Frank. At least when it comes to talking.”

He grimaced. “I think... I sat too long... wrong position...”

“I'm sure it's not easy to find one that eases the pressure on your ribs,” Nancy agreed. “I'll have Hannah get us more pillows. Then we can try and find a better way for you to rest. We didn't risk taking you to the doctor—but that means nothing if you can't rest and recuperate here.”

“Be... fine,” Frank insisted, stubborn. “Give me... files.”

“You sure looking at them is a good idea? I don't know that you'll be able to do much with them in your state.”

Frank snorted. “Act like... never had cracked ribs... before. Have broken... them. Broken lot... of stuff... Joe... trouble... a lot. Dad... private investigator... get involved in cases... Stuff happens.”

Nancy knew that well herself, though she thought the brothers might have more scars than she did—and not because there were two of them. “I'll get you something for the pain and see about more pillows.”

“Files.”

George sighed. “You are just as bad as Nancy is. Fine pair you two make.”

She passed Frank the files, and he sat back with them, flipping the first open and lifting a page from it. George rolled her eyes as she watched, about ready to throw up her hands. Nancy tried not to laugh. It was kind of funny to see someone else besides her and Bess getting that reaction out of George.

“I don't think you want to miss your last class,” Nancy said, and George nodded. Nancy walked with her to the stairs, going down with her friend.

“You'd better make sure he does more resting,” George told her. “I know you don't like to do it, but I don't think he's going to quit. Not before he finds his father and why Barron framed him. He might even be worse than you are.”

Nancy let her hand drift along the railing as she went down. “I don't think Frank Hardy does much resting when he's on a case.”

“You almost sound like you admire that.”

“I guess I might,” Nancy said, shrugging as she reached the bottom of the stairs. “The chief respects my opinions, my father does, and I've worked with a few cops before, but sometimes I think they're just humoring me. Frank seems to respect my opinion—despite me mistaking him for a suspect. I've never really collaborated with detectives my age with their reputation... I feel like he takes me seriously. Not like some others. And—”

George put her hand on her hip and fluttered her eyelashes, speaking in a saccarine voice. “And him liking mysteries is _totally_ hot.”

Nancy winced. “George, that was the worst impression of Bess you've ever done. It was terrible. And completely wrong. It's not like that. I like working with you and Bess to solve a case. I've just never met other kids my age doing this because they want to and not because their crazy friend talked them into it.”

George laughed. “I think you're making excuses. We have other reasons for being involved, though I don't think anyone loves mysteries as much as you do—except maybe Frank. I'm not sure about Joe.”

“Oh, I think Joe is just as bad as his brother.”

* * *

“I feel like I'm going... float off... the bed,” Frank said, fidgeting on his mountain of pillows. As soon as Nancy said something to her housekeeper, the woman was up fluffing pillows around him and fussing, almost making his injuries worse with her need to get his bed just right. She was kind, but he did not want to be moved or touched again.

Nancy laughed. “Hannah may have thought the more pillows you had, the less likely you were to hurt, and it's almost logical.”

“More like comical,” Frank muttered, putting a hand to his head. “Sorry. Pain... Not usually...”

“So grumpy? I guess you're something of a bear when you're hurt,” Nancy said, and he grunted. He wasn't helping that impression, and he knew it, but it was still difficult to breathe and everything hurt. He was tired, too, but he didn't want to sleep. Not before he was able to get through the files Joe had gotten from King.

That risk his brother took had to be worth it.

“Files,” he said, and Nancy gave them back to him. He started looking through them only to have her move close enough to look over his shoulder.

“I'm not sure I understand what these mean. Are these client names?” She asked, and he almost coughed as he caught the rich scent of her shampoo. Her hair was way too close to his face. He didn't know that he'd ever forget that particular fragrance—it was always going to remind him of her. “I don't know all there is to know about accounting, but I can understand the basics. I've dealt with embezzling and fraud before, though not with mob ties.”

Frank shrugged and then grimaced. He had to remember not to do that. “We don't usually... deal with... the mob, either. I'm not sure... why Dad got mixed up... with them... but Dad doesn't... always tell us... everything.”

Nancy turned her head, studying Frank instead of the files. “You sound... angry about that.”

“I do?”

She nodded. “It's subtle, but it's there. There's an undercurrent to your words that is not pain.”

He sighed. He didn't know that he wanted to argue with her, as much as he didn't want to say anything. She'd push until he did, so he'd better just get the conversation over with. “Sometimes... what Dad doesn't tell us... gets us into... lot... trouble. We... investigate... wrong thing. Wrong person. Joe gets hurt... Or I do. Love Dad, just wish... More forthcoming.”

“And you, Frank? Are you forthcoming?”

“You... side with Joe?”

“Is there a good reason you didn't tell him about Marasco? Or Hausler?”

Frank nodded. “His... temper. Didn't want him... getting hurt. Marasco would have.... killed him. And still don't know... Hausler's.... connection. Too dangerous. Too many... variables. Wanted investigate Hausler... get away... Marasco...”

“And King? Do you think Joe is safe there?”

“No.” Frank pointed to a line in the ledger. “King's shorthand... If right... this is... Marasco's store. No customers... yet...”

“A lot of money going in and out of there,” Nancy said, pointing to the last number in the column. “They're laundering money through the store. Though... I think we both already knew that.”

* * *

“I need a car.”

Bess looked over at Joe, stopping with her hand in her purse. She figured he'd gotten bored by her locker while she got her things, but she wasn't leaving without everything she needed. She wasn't about to come back here after their little shopping trip, so she had to take all of her books and clothes home.

“Is that a comment about my driving? Or about how long it took me to get ready to leave?”

Joe shook his head, looking sheepish. “Uh, neither, actually. I was just... I need to be able to move around. You know I don't even have my own car back home? Frank and I share one, but it may as well be his. I just... need the freedom and the mobility.”

“Because you want to go to Frank?”

Joe looked at her. “Am I that obvious?”

She nodded. “You are, Joe, but that's actually rather endearing. I like the way you're so close to your brother.”

“Close to your brother, huh?” A low voice asked, and they both turned to look at the giant looming over them. “Then maybe you and I should have a little talk about where Frankie boy is.”


	11. Chases and Cases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe and Bess meet Marasco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I wrote action. Hence the futile staring at the screen that led to a new sequel when I already am struggling to update things. I need to stop this. I'm terrible with stories, though.

* * *

“Run!” Joe yelled, and Bess didn't need him to tell her that, but he took her hand and dragged her off anyway. She knew this sort of thing from previous cases with Nancy, though she wasn't usually on the run with a cute guy. That happened once every twenty or so cases, and Bess wasn't as used to that, but she had to say she preferred it over being alone while she was chased.

“Let me lead,” Bess said, and Joe ignored her at first, but she tugged on his arm as he led her into the parking lot. She wasn't sure what he was thinking. Yeah, that guy was huge and he would stand out over all the cars, but they'd get slowed down in between them just as much as he would.

“Bess—”

“It's my car,” she hissed out between rapid breaths. “I know where I parked it—you don't.”

Joe almost laughed, smiling and nodding, letting go of her hand as she took the lead toward her car. She would have preferred holding onto him—sure the guy was three times Joe's size, but just being with him was better than facing someone like that _alone_ —but she wasn't sure that either of them were running fast enough now.

Something slammed into a car behind them, and Bess turned back, almost screaming when she saw how close the guy was—and what he'd done to that truck. If that had been _her_ car, it would have been just about crushed. She didn't like this. She and Joe were in _big_ trouble.

That pun should have made her groan, but all she could think about was how dumb she'd been for thinking that parking farther away was a good reason to get in a little exercise that she wouldn't normally get. She had broken her diet yesterday, and it seemed like a good idea, but now—she was way too far from her car and way too close to that guy.

Joe moved in between her and the giant, pushing her back. She stumbled, falling next to a car she recognized. Not Nancy's, not George's, not even Ned's, though she wouldn't be sorry if that giant destroyed that particular cheerleader's car. None of them could stand her—with good reason.

She tugged Joe around the front of it, hoping to see that get smashed in. “This way. The car is—”

“Damn, Bess,” Joe said, dodging around the front of the overpriced pink monstrosity. “Could you have parked any farther away?”

“Yes!” Bess answered, though she agreed with him. She should have parked closer, but they didn't have time to argue about that now. They had to find a way to the car without getting pounded to death. That guy _had_ to have been the one who hurt Frank, and she didn't know how he'd survived him. Frank should be dead.

She ran around another car, needing to rest but knowing she couldn't. A hand clamped on her arm and she screamed. She wanted to hear Joe say it was him, but that claw around her arm was not his. She swallowed, thinking her skin was going to be dark and bruised just by having that hand on her.

“All right, girlie,” the guy said, moving his other hand onto her neck. “I don't know if you know where Frankie is, but I can use you.”

She struggled in his grasp but didn't feel like she was moving at all.

“Here's the deal, Joey. You give me your brother... Or I take your girl.”

* * *

“Nancy!”

She lifted her head from her study of King's account logs, looking over at Frank. She thought he'd drifted off again on his mountain of pillows, and she had to smile when she saw it, since he was fighting so hard to stay awake and solve this thing. He was stubborn, and she liked that about him, since she was just that same kind of stubborn.

She set down the papers and went to the door, hoping not to draw too much attention to which room she'd left. She didn't think her father would stay ignorant of the fact that someone else was in their house forever—he wasn't stupid and Hannah might have already told him—but Nancy would like to keep Frank's presence here as little known as possible.

She really hoped no one had told Ned.

“Dad?”

“I've got those files you wanted to look at,” Carson said, and she ran down the stairs as soon as he started talking. This what she was hoping for. Fenton's files could have the missing connections between Marasco and Hausler—and even if they didn't, knowing exactly what he'd been looking into was the first step in finding out what happened.

“Let me see.”

Carson gave her a hard look. “I think we need to set a few ground rules first.”

Nancy blinked. She was used to her father's support and acceptance of what she did, though she knew that he _did_ worry about her. This was different, she supposed, since she didn't usually go after the mob—her cases seemed more mundane, at least at first. “Ground rules?”

“You know I only agreed to this because you said you wanted to help his sons,” Carson began, and she nodded. She was helping the Hardys, though she'd spent a lot more time with Frank than with Joe. She'd like to help Joe as well—she'd have loved to be part of searching King's office, but she knew she couldn't be—and she was tempted to ignore Frank's advice and tell Joe just to come here because he could be in danger.

“I do. And I am.”

Carson studied her. She refused to fidget. She would come clean about Frank being upstairs if she had to, but she knew her father would hate the idea of her working on this if he knew how badly Frank had been hurt, so she wanted to wait on that.

“Mr. Barron actually accused Frank of being the one who attacked him.”

Carson frowned. “Why would he do that? I thought the boys just transferred, and even with what happened to their father—”

“Frank didn't suddenly turn into a criminal just because his father went missing,” Nancy said, rolling her eyes. She had suspected Frank, too, but that was before she knew him. Bess was right—she had to learn about people before making accusations. Nancy swore she would work on that in the future. “He's not like that. Frank wants to find his father and protect his brother. That's all.”

Carson nodded, opening up his briefcase and taking out the files. “They weren't very happy about my request to make copies. I'm not even sure I should have. We're talking about legalities here that I don't know that you care about since you don't have to make the case in court, but this could cause problems. They shouldn't have shown me any of it.”

“If it leads to finding Fenton and possibly helping solve whatever case he was working on before he disappeared, isn't that worth it?” Nancy asked. She put a hand on her father's arm. “I appreciate everything you do for me, Dad. I mean that. I know it's not always easy for you, and you have staked a lot on this, but I do think it will help.”

Her father smiled. He touched her cheek. “I hope you're right about this.”

“I'll take it to Joe as soon as I can,” Nancy promised. _And I'll wake up Frank as soon as you hand me those files. I'm sure he wants to see them._ She wouldn't have to wait long for Frank's opinion on them, she was sure of that. “You might have results before you go to bed.”

Carson laughed. “Well, I would rather this be over sooner than later, but I think you're getting ahead of yourself. Remember, the police couldn't find Hardy, and that has gone on for weeks now.”

“Yes,” Nancy agreed. “But I have something they don't.”

* * *

“Frank, wake up.”

“Go away, Joe,” he muttered, though a moment later, his brain caught up with him and he realized that the voice was feminine. That was not his brother, not even his mother or his aunt. He was actually grateful for that last one. He liked her and all, but he did not want to be injured around her. “Not Joe.”

Nancy laughed, smiling at him, and Frank would have been more annoyed if Nancy didn't have a nice smile—and what looked like his father's files in her hands. At least, he _hoped_ they were his father's files. He didn't know what else they might be—maybe Nancy had it in her head that she'd load Frank with all sorts of cases from before, things she hadn't solved or her father hadn't. Frank was more or less stuck in bed and at her mercy.

“Dad's files?”

She nodded. “My dad just gave them to me—along with a warning not to expect too much because the police couldn't find your father after weeks of searching.”

Frank snorted. “None of them... bothered asking... me or Joe.”

“Exactly. I told Dad I had something the police didn't,” she said, teasing him with a smile, and Frank considered groaning, but he would much rather work his father's case and didn't want to be shut out of it, either. “I don't see anything here on Hausler, which was what I was hoping for, but you can start on them and tell me what you think and if anything sticks out to you.”

“I see. Just here... for my mind... Slave to your case files...”

She laughed. “What, would you rather I wanted you as a slave for your body?”

Frank considered that, and the room got tense for a minute while he did. Things could get really awkward, since he was staying in her house, and then he wasn't sure how she'd take that, either. Joe would just say yes, because that was what he did. Frank, on the other hand, had to weigh options and variables until it got weird. Like now. “I can't see why you would. It's a little broken at the moment.”

“You'll heal,” she told him, “though I think I would be lying if I didn't say I think your mind is of more value to me at the moment.”

Frank watched her. “Are you... actually flirting with me?”

She flushed. “I... I suppose it came out wrong. I was just teasing. I was—It's not like—I didn't—I wanted to see what you thought about your father's files. Your mind is... I like seeing you work, and you have a good handle on things despite your injuries. That's all. Well... and I can't resist a mystery and want to know what happened to your father, how Hausler and Barron connect to this, and stop the mob and Marasco.”

Frank smiled. He opened the first file and almost shut it again. Marasco's was on top, and Frank didn't need to know any more about that guy. He'd seen enough first hand. He set the file to the side and started rummaging through the next one. “Hey—has Barron ever... much interest... in sports?”

Nancy nodded. “Sometimes. He has the jerseys and will base word problems off them. Why?”

“This file. Raymond—”

“The bookie. You think that could be Barron's connection to the mob?”

“Could be... Would be easy... to find out.”

“You are not hacking a bank, Hardy.”

* * *

George adjusted her radio again, shaking her head as she did. She didn't understand why Bess always had to mess with the presets when she was in George's car. Like it was that hard to scroll to the channel she wanted or use a disc instead. She needed to stop doing that.

She turned back into the school's lot, knowing she was already late. She didn't have to come back at all, not at this point, except she would rather have the assignments she'd missed, and if she needed her books, she should grab them now. It wouldn't do any good to have a classmate text her the assignment if she didn't have the books.

She went to park at the far end of the lot, preferring it when leaving the school to where the popular kids would cluster up and block the lanes to get out. There. She could even park next to Bess and then ask her cousin for what she'd missed.

She almost pulled into the spot when she saw something out of the corner of her eye and stopped. Impossible. That wasn't—that guy was _huge._ And he had Bess.

Joe seemed to be trying to talk him down, but George didn't think that was going to work. She took a deep breath and put her foot down on the accelerator. If she did this right, she could scare the guy into dropping Bess—though if he was anything like what she knew of the guys Nancy went up against, he wasn't going to just let Bess go. George would have to be very careful, or she'd end up really hurting her cousin, since she didn't think it would be easy to take that guy down.

She saw Joe moving, and she thought either he'd seen the car or he was working on another angle, but if he was aware of the car, maybe he would be able to help Bess as soon as George intervened.

She knew this was crazy, but she was going to risk it anyway. She wasn't about to let that guy hurt Bess. She drove forward, making sure to clip the man in the leg when he didn't move out of the way. He should have heard the car, no excuse for him not doing it, so she figured he'd had warning enough. He fell back on her hood, and she winced as it crumpled under his weight, the arm he threw backward when he hit smacking into her windshield and shattering it.

She got out and went around to the front of the car. “Bess?”

“I'm... okay...” Her cousin said, shaking. Joe nodded, looking worried. “Wow. I can't believe you did that.”

George's hands were shaking now. “Me, either, but I didn't want him hurting you.”

Bess smiled back weakly. She leaned against Joe. “I'm so glad that's over. He was scary.”

“No kidding,” Joe agreed. “I didn't think we stood a chance against him, and after seeing what he did to Frank—”

“That's Marasco?” George asked, now really glad she _had_ hit him with her car. She stared as the man on her hood started to rise. “Uh, guys...”

“Run!” Bess said, taking off toward her car.


	12. Finding the Next Step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Joe, Bess, and George run from Marasco. It's time to make plans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... I had the end part of this in mind almost from the beginning of this idea forming.
> 
> Then I almost fell asleep while writing it, I was that exhausted. :(

* * *

“Do we think we lost them?” Bess asked, looking over at Joe. She didn't remember giving him the keys, but she hadn't really been in a state to drive after that guy got hold of her. George, even, seemed to be in a state of shock still. She'd been awesome, hitting Marasco with her car, but he hadn't stayed down. She knew they'd gotten out of the parking spot before he got close, so he would have had to get back to his car first before he could follow them, but was that enough?

Joe's grip tightened on the wheel. “I haven't seen any sign of a tail, and I'm usually pretty good at spotting them. Frank says I'm a terrible driver, but he owes his life to my driving a couple times over, since I always seem to be behind the wheel when the bad guys catch up to us.”

“Someone's a little full of himself,” George muttered from the backseat.

Joe laughed. “I was going for reassuring, but sure. Take it like that if you want.”

Bess managed a small smile. “I think it's reassuring.”

“You would,” George said, but she was also smiling. It was hard to resist that high from relief, knowing that they'd gotten away from that giant. Bess had thought she was as good as dead when he got her. Not that she didn't think Joe would do anything he could to get her free, but he didn't stand a chance against Marasco, and she didn't believe he'd actually betray his brother to that guy, not even for her. She didn't mean _that_ much to him.

“So... now what? Do we keep driving around? Or do we risk going to Nancy's?”

George grimaced. “I'm not sure we should. Frank's still pretty weak, and we shouldn't move him. We can't lead Marasco to him, either.”

Joe grunted. He took a turn a little too sharply, and Bess figured Frank had issues with Joe's emotions driving more than he did. “I'm sick of not seeing my brother. Staying away just meant they thought they could use me to get to him, and I won't let that happen. We need to find a way to end this.”

“So we go to Nancy's,” Bess said, ignoring George's frown. “We meet up, regroup, figure out a plan. Nancy's usually good at having plans.”

“So is Frank,” Joe agreed. “Between the two of them, we should have plenty of plans, and we're not helpless or stupid. We can work on a few ourselves. I think we need to talk it over, though, and maybe that is just an excuse to see how Frank is really doing, but I still want that. Need it, even.”

Bess nodded. “I think it's best we just go to Nancy's. If we have to move Frank, we will, but we'll just have to see.”

George finally agreed, nodding as she did. “Yeah, and maybe by now Frank has come up with something from King's books—and Nancy did say she was going to try and get your father's files for Frank and you to look at.”

“All the more reason to go to Nancy's,” Bess said. She turned to Joe. “You know how to get there?”

He frowned, and she figured he didn't remember the way from when she'd driven him there before. “Um... actually, no.”

“It's okay. I'll tell you when we get close.”

“Yeah—and in the meantime, keep an eye out for any cars that might be following us.”

* * *

Nancy heard the doorbell just before she reached the bottom of the stairs. She paused, looking toward her father's office. She had intended to get Frank more water and something just as liquid to eat—he'd have intravenous fluids if he was in the hospital, but the best she could do was broth. Hannah should have some, and she'd probably already thought of making some for their guest.

That would have to wait. She went to the door first, opening it to find her friends standing there. “Bess. George. Joe. What are you doing here?”

“Marasco tried to kill me,” Bess said, shuddering. “If George hadn't hit him with her car, he'd have choked me to death or something. He was trying to get Joe to tell him where Frank was—he didn't—but that guy is... he's _evil._ He's so big and mean and...”

Joe grimaced. “I was afraid when I saw he had her. I couldn't do anything—that guy was just too big, too strong. I'm not sure how Frank held out against him. Marasco even got up after George hit him and chased us. The guy doesn't stay down. I know we weren't supposed to come here—”

“No, it's okay,” Nancy said, ushering them in and shutting the door behind them. “We'll probably have to move your car, Bess, but I was thinking we needed to do something about where you were, Joe. We'll have to talk it over. First, though, I was about to get some broth from Hannah—”

“Don't you have anything more substantial?” Joe asked. “I'm starving.”

Bess looked at him. “You can eat after that thing with Marasco? I couldn't have a bite, and I am always breaking my diet. I'd even say that today demands chocolate, but I don't think I could eat anything right now.”

Joe shrugged. “I'm always hungry. I'm a growing boy—and if Frank had a nickel for every time he heard that, he'd be a rich man.”

Nancy smiled. “I bet. Come on. I'm sure Hannah has enough for everyone. I just wanted to make sure we were getting something to Frank, since he's not able to eat like he rest of us. I'm not sure he has much appetite, either, but he needs nourishment if he's going to heal.”

George shook her head. “I don't know—I had to leave my car behind when I hit that guy, and he got a good look at Bess' car. He might have followed us here. We should probably do something before we eat. Food can wait.”

“Not for Frank,” Joe disagreed. “I bet he hasn't eaten since before we left the group home. It's not like Marasco would have fed him.”

“And he was in too much pain yesterday to eat,” Nancy agreed, thinking of the incident with the aspirin bottle. “Go ahead and get the food, you two. George, why don't you come with me? I'll move my car out of the garage, and you can pull Bess' in there for now. It'll buy us some time, though I'm not sure how much.”

“You think they already know about you?” Joe asked. “I mean about—”

“Mr. Barron actually accused Frank of being the one who attacked him,” Nancy explained, watching Joe's face go from worried to angry in no time at all. She held up her hands. “I didn't say I believed him—I actually found it very suspicious. All he said before was dark hair, but then when I spoke to him today he told me—he knew everything Frank was wearing, including his Bayport athletics shirt.”

“I don't understand. What does he gain by accusing Frank?”

Nancy smiled. “Your brother has a theory about that.”

Joe seemed torn between a groan and a grin. “Of course he does.”

* * *

Joe looked up from his plate as Nancy and George reentered the kitchen. He didn't want to stop eating—Hannah's cooking could put some famous chefs to shame—but he knew that some things had to come before his stomach. He was only still down here eating because Hannah was firm about the food not leaving the table. She wasn't about to let them take any of it upstairs, with the exception of the broth for Frank.

“Get the cars all taken care of?”

Nancy nodded. “Like I said, I don't know that it buys us much time, but we have a bit to discuss what we do now. I'm not really sure what options we have—we may need to get others involved—and by others, I mean the police.”

Joe snorted, reaching for his milk. “I don't know. None of them were all that willing to listen to us before—one of them even called Frank 'hysterical.' As if Frank is even _capable_ of being anything but calm. Well, no, I mean, you _can_ piss Frank off, and it's not something you want to see because when a guy like him loses his top, it's bad, but... they're just wrong. Frank wasn't hysterical. He gave them logical reasons why Dad wasn't dead, and they said he was just a kid and he didn't understand.”

Nancy snorted. “Your brother understands more than they do.”

Bess leaned back in her chair. “You like him.”

“Why wouldn't I like him? Frank's a good detective with a keen mind. He stood up to a bad beating and is still working on cases.” Nancy crossed over to the table, picking up a sandwich and taking a bite. She washed it down with some milk.

“No, I mean you _like_ him, like him,” Bess said, giggling as she did. “See? She's blushing, isn't she, George? You've seen them together more than we have. She's totally into him, isn't she?”

Joe wasn't entirely sure how he felt about someone who'd suspected his brother now having a crush on him, but he wouldn't mind teasing Frank about it. He liked getting under his brother's skin. It was his favorite thing to do—besides flirt with pretty girls and solve mysteries.

“Bess, this really isn't the time for that,” Nancy said. “We've got things to discuss—”

“Only we all agree we're not discussing more case stuff without Frank,” Joe said, though that decision hadn't been made when Nancy or George was in the room to be consulted. “It doesn't make sense to talk it over twice. So... spill. You got the hots for my brother or what?”

Nancy groaned. Her eyes were on his plate and the mess he'd made of the table. “How does Frank even put up with you?”

“Talent,” Joe said, and George snorted, but he thought she was fighting a smile. “And blood, I guess. He's a big brother. He's like... hardwired to love me.”

“It doesn't always work that way.”

Joe nodded. “I know. Believe me, I know I'm lucky. I also know just how rare it is for brothers to get along as well as we do. We hear that all the time.”

“It's pretty adorable,” Bess agreed. “I always kind of wanted a sister I could be that close to. All I got was a cousin.”

George rolled her eyes. “We _do_ get along, though. You don't have to say it like I'm chopped liver or anything.”

“No, but you two _are_ very different,” Nancy said, and Joe had to agree. After all, his charm was completely lost on George, but Bess just ate it up. “Let's finish up our food and go talk to Frank. We need to make a plan.”

* * *

“That is a lot of pillows.”

Frank grunted, shifting his position on the bed, and Joe looked two seconds from jumping over to help him, making George want to laugh. While a lot of things about Joe irritated her, she did think he redeemed himself with how much he cared about his brother.

“Drowning in them,” Frank said. “Though... you would like it.”

Joe shrugged, sitting down on the edge of the bed. “Maybe. It's good to see you, though. You were pretty bad when I left, and I didn't know what to think. Everyone was telling me you were fine, but it's one thing to hear and another to see with my own eyes.”

Frank reached out and caught his brother by the arm, pulling him into an awkward hug. “Was worried... about you.”

“Me?” Joe snorted, pushing back from the hug but not seeming the least bit embarrassed by it like most guys would have been. “I'm fine. Well, more or less.”

“King... accountant for mob. Not safe,” Frank said. “Marasco... money launder... through store.”

“Oh,” Joe said. He winced. “Guess that explains why he showed up looking for you.”

“Found you?”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. He had Bess, but George over there hit him with her car and we all got away. We're okay, really, but we need to figure out what we're doing now. Marasco knows who we are, he came after me looking for you, and we need a way to stop him.”

Frank turned his head to George. “Thank you.”

She shrugged. “It wasn't really—I didn't think about it. Not much. He had my cousin. I did what I had to do.”

“Still owe you... more than one,” Frank told her. He closed his eyes. “Right now, main thing... keep everyone safe.”

“If we had hard evidence—”

“We have an eyewitness,” Nancy said, stopping Joe before he could get started. Joe frowned and then looked at Frank, who nodded. “Your brother can testify to what Marasco did to him and a bit more, but we have to make sure he stays safe—and the rest of us do, too. That won't be easy with Barron accusing him. Our theory is that he owes a mob bookie and they told him to accuse Frank, but we don't know how he knew to do that.”

Joe grimaced. “King could have overheard me and Bess talking. His window is close to where the girls like to play. It could have been us.”

“Don't blame... self,” Frank said. “How... not important. Planning next move is.”

“I think we have to find someone we can trust to turn over what we know,” Nancy said, unhappy with her choice. “I'd much rather pursue this on our own, but we're losing mobility. Marasco knows the three of you now, too, and he could go after any of you. Frank's too hurt to move him, and I am not going after Marasco on my own.”

“We could start with your dad,” George suggested. She saw a look pass over Nancy's face and wondered if that had to do with her having Frank here—and Carson still not knowing about it. She would have thought Hannah or Nancy would have told him by now, but apparently not.

“Yeah, I can,” Nancy agreed, reluctance in her voice.

Frank looked at her. “Could wait... morning. Too tired to do much now... Rested... better plan... give time to see if... found... and time to heal more... easier to move...”

“I don't mind having a slumber party,” Bess said, winking at Joe. He laughed. Frank, George, and Nancy groaned.

* * *

Though the others had gone, either to sleep—Joe was snoring rather loudly beside him—or into the other room, Frank had found it difficult to get any rest. The broth had not ever settled in his stomach, and he was having a hard time quieting his mind.

The pain didn't help, either. His ribs ached, and the rest of him wasn't any better. Realistically, he knew he should be dead. He was fortunate that none of his injuries caused internal bleeding—or if they had, it had resolved on its own.

That didn't make it feel any better.

He knew he'd been the one to say they should wait until morning, and the others had agreed, but only because they all were aware that they had limited options. Marasco could hurt any of them that showed themselves, but then the DeLuca family that Marasco worked for were rumored to have dozens of corrupt cops on the payroll. Why else would someone hire an outsider like Frank's father? They'd wanted someone they thought they could trust, someone who had no ties to this place, nothing that DeLuca or Marasco could use against them.

Except... Fenton Hardy had sons. Two of them.

Frank sighed. He didn't know that they had anywhere to turn but to the people Mr. Drew would recommend, but he didn't feel comfortable putting his life in their hands, either. If he died, the case against Marasco just about died with him. Frank didn't know that money laundering was enough to keep that guy where he belonged.

He doubted it.

The floorboard outside the door creaked, and Frank tensed. He waited, hand moving closer to Joe in case he had to wake his brother. The door opened, and Frank eyed the figure in the doorway.

“You know... I don't know that I can forgive you for this.”


	13. Bump in the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Frank gets a late night visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this was planned from the beginning. I just wasn't sure how long it should be before I revealed it. Even now, I'm not sure.

* * *

“I wouldn't blame you if you didn't,” Fenton Hardy said as he stepped into the room. Frank watched his father cross to the bed. A small smile passed his lips as he saw Joe snoring away, and Frank wasn't sure if he could be mad or not about that. “I kind of hope you will, though.”

Frank put his hand over his aching ribs, trying not to think about what Marasco had done to him. He didn't want to remember. “Did you always plan to do this to us?”

“Do what?” Fenton asked, sitting down on the side of the bed next to Joe. He kept on snoring, not aware of his father's presence. Frank would wake up his brother later, before their father left again, but first he thought he had to have the hard conversation. 

“Did you always... mean to send us... in against Marasco and King?” Frank asked. “Is that why you... had us come with you? Normally... a case this dangerous...”

Fenton rose, crossing quickly to the other side of the bed. “No, Frank. Look at me. Do you think I wanted you or your brother hurt? I swear I didn't. When I heard you were missing, I had to find you, and now, seeing you... I don't know that I will ever forgive myself.”

Frank nodded, taking in another breath that hurt and letting it out. His ribs would heal. So would the rest of him. He just didn't know how to react right now. As soon as he'd thought about it, it made sense—Hausler sending them in undercover—but he didn't know why she would pick Marasco—or why Fenton would. That seemed like a death sentence. It almost had been.

“Why... Marasco?”

Fenton sighed. “That was a mistake. I just about lost it when I heard what Hausler had done. Yes, I thought maybe if you two were placed in a home like King's, you'd get suspicious and find a connection to the mob, but it wasn't supposed to be that dangerous. King's harmless on his own. Marasco... he's not. You weren't supposed to be put there, I swear.”

Frank closed his eyes. “Dad, he...”

“I'm sorry,” Fenton told him. He put a hand on Frank's good cheek, and Frank jerked back, hitting the wall with a loud groan that would have been a scream if Frank's ribs had let him get more air in his lungs. He hadn't expected to react like that to his father's touch, and it hurt. Everything that had been sore before was worse, and Frank would rather pass out than try to keep talking to his father.

“Frank,” Fenton began, but Joe jerked up and looked around, ready for a fight.

“Where is—wait. Dad?”

“Hello, Joe,” Fenton said, giving him another smile. “It's good to see you. I've missed both of you. I'm sorry I had to stay away—”

“It's okay,” Joe said. “We knew you weren't dead—that you were on a case. We weren't sure if you were hurt or not, but we were going to find you. I know we were. Frank managed to find a bunch of stuff in one day—all while he was hurt. So if we'd just been able to get out of that group home, we'd have found you sooner. Only... you found us.”

“I... I knew where you were the entire time,” Fenton admitted. “With one exception—I didn't know where Frank was yesterday. After Hausler told me about the calls you made to her, claiming Frank was gone, I knew something was wrong. I broke into Marasco's store—someone had already done it—and found no sign of Frank, so I backtracked and connected Ms. Drew to your friend Bess. I wasn't sure Frank was here—or that you were—but I decided to take a look anyway. It was the best case scenario—and I wanted it to be the right one.”

“What?”

“I saw a lot of blood in Marasco's store,” Fenton said, looking at Frank. He lowered his head, not meeting his father's gaze. Some of what Marasco had done would have been too obvious to a detective like their father. “I was afraid I wasn't looking for a son but a dead body.”

Joe snorted. “It was pretty close.”

Frank grunted. That much was true, but he didn't want to think about it right now. He was tired and sore. “Joe got into... King's files. We found what... proof Marasco's store... a money laundering front..... for the DeLucas. A teacher... may be involved... with one of their bookies. It's... not much...”

Joe nodded. “All we really have is what he did to Frank.”

“That's not enough,” Frank began, shaking his head, but before he could say anything else, they were all turning to face the creak in the hallway outside the room.

“Frank?” Nancy's voice came from the doorway. “Are you okay?”

“We're fine, Nancy,” Joe answered for him. “Bess, George—say hello to our father, Fenton Hardy.”

* * *

Nancy had been in the middle of a restless sleep when she heard the first noise. She knew her father kept meaning to have that creaky floorboard fixed, but she'd never cared that he forgot it. It seemed better to her if he did, since that way she had advance warning in case someone ever did break in and got up the stairs. She told herself she was crazy, that she was imagining it because Marasco had gone after Joe and Bess and they were all worried about it, but she heard more afterward.

Voices.

Nancy started to get up, accidentally rousing George in the process, nearly falling over the girl in the process. Bess had argued against having the floor, and George gave in because she didn't care, and Nancy would have taken the floor to pacify everyone, and that would have meant less waking of everyone else in her haste to get to Frank in the spare room.

What she would do against Marasco, she didn't know, but she shouldn't have woken her friends.

“Nancy? What is it?” George asked, sitting up and rubbing her shoulder where Nancy had gotten her when she stepped wrong in the low light.

“I heard something. I think someone's in the house.”

“It could just be a—” George stopped. “I think there are voices coming from the guest room.”

Nancy nodded, reaching for the box at the foot of her bed and taking out the taser she kept there. She rarely used it, but she kept it around in case she couldn't fight off a suspect, and she knew Marasco was one she couldn't fight.

“What was that?” Bess asked, sleep making her voice heavy. She wasn't all the way awake yet.

“We think someone's in Frank's room,” George told her, and Bess bolted up, muttering something about Joe. She rushed out of the bed, and Nancy grimaced.

“This could be dangerous. If it's Marasco—”

“You're not going alone,” both of her friends insisted, and Nancy did smile slightly. She had such loyal friends—and she really didn't deserve them. “We are coming with you.”

Nancy braced herself, heading into the hallway. If this was Marasco, none of them were really going to last long against him, and she wasn't sure her taser would be enough against a man who'd walked away from being hit by a car.

She heard Frank's voice first, still low and hoarse from his ribs. “Joe got into... King's files. We found what... proof Marasco's store... a money laundering front..... for the DeLucas. A teacher... may be involved... with one of their bookies. It's... not much...”

Why would Frank be saying that to Marasco? He wouldn't. Well, he might say a bit to protect Joe, but he didn't have to do that—he could have called for help first. This didn't make sense.

Joe spoke next, not sounding at all worried or hurt. “All we really have is what he did to Frank.”

“That's not enough,” Frank said, and Nancy was afraid he was right. Though he'd almost killed Frank, Marasco would likely see no jail time for it.

“Frank?” Nancy called, leaning into the door and hoping she wasn't making a mistake. Maybe she could be a distraction if need be. If not... then maybe the intruder would come for her and her taser instead. “Are you okay?”

“We're fine, Nancy,” Joe told her, grinning from his spot on the bed. “Bess, George—say hello to our father, Fenton Hardy.”

Nancy heard relief and confusion from her friends, but as soon as she got a better look at the older man next to the bed, she knew Joe was telling the truth—that was their father. Not only did he look like the pictures that had been all over the papers, but she could see where Frank would age into those more weathered features when he was older. That was definitely him—Fenton Hardy in the flesh.

“It's good to know you're not dead. The boys were really worried about you.”

“Worried?” Bess asked. “I think someone might need to slap him.”

Joe frowned. “Uh, Bess—”

“Come on, Joe,” Bess said, gesturing to Fenton. “Your father was alive. He seems fine. And yet you ended up in foster care and your brother almost died. Someone has some explaining to do.”

* * *

“I agree, and Frank and Joe have already heard part of it,” Fenton began, and Bess seemed to calm down some. George gave her a long look. She had gotten very attached to Joe in a very short time. George wasn't sure how she felt about that. On the one hand, boys came and went in Bess' life almost daily. On the other, Joe was probably headed back to New York now, and that would be hard on Bess if she did think she loved him.

“Let me guess—you were the one who arranged for them to be placed in foster care,” Nancy said. “Hausler was working with you, not with Marasco or the DeLucas. You wanted your boys to get a look at King's accounts, since he never leaves his house. Only... something went wrong because Frank ended up far from where he should have been.”

“According to Diane,” Fenton began, stealing a glance at his son as he started speaking, “King threw a wrench in things by insisting on only taking in one foster child. She had been contacted by Marasco and knew he was also under investigation, so she placed Frank there.”

“How could Marasco's record get past her?” Bess asked, horrified. “She did see it, didn't she?”

Fenton grimaced. “Since Marasco was specifically interested in having a young girl, she had a theory about what he was after and figured Frank was safe enough from him.”

“Are you kidding?” George asked. “What kind of logic is that?”

“It seems that my boys have a bit of a reputation proceeding them, and she really believed Frank could handle anything Marasco might try—and uncover evidence in the process. Since Frank is the more level-headed of the boys—”

“Hey!” Joe protested.

“She said she thought he'd keep his head down and out of trouble, and it wasn't supposed to be for long—she was already working on other arrangements, but I'd stressed how Frank and Joe needed to be out of that group home to work,” Fenton said, shaking his head. “I may have overstated a few things, and I think Frank paid the price for that.”

Frank groaned. “You don't mean... bragged... that much.”

Fenton turned back to him. “It is my favorite pastime, contrary to what your mother says.”

“Ew! Dad, don't go there,” Joe said, pretending to cover his ears. “I didn't hear that. I know I didn't. I never did.”

“Please... like you... be here... if they didn't,” Frank muttered, giving his brother a shove, even as Fenton shook his head at both of them. “'Sides... not what he meant...”

“Exactly,” Fenton said. He let out a yawn. “Sorry. It's been a long day. I worked non-stop to find Frank again, and while I am glad I wasn't facing the worst case scenario there—Diane just about had a nervous breakdown when she got Joe's call—I think I may have to get going. I haven't figured out just how to keep any of them in jail. Letting them think I'd died after they ran me off the road bought me some time and freedom, and moving the boys—well, you can see how well that turned out.”

George folded her arms over her chest. “Seriously, though—I don't see how she could have thought that your bragging was enough to overcome that guy. I hit him with a car and he still came after us. And Frank stood a chance against _that?”_

“Dad,” Frank said, yanking on his brother's arm in his urgency. “Possible... Hausler compromised?”

Fenton swore under his breath, and George took that as a yes.


	14. Plans to Get through the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The late night conference continues, with one more added guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a little low-key after the last chapter, but I wasn't up to writing the confrontations and so I left them in the planning stages and a little bit of downtime is due the detectives, right?
> 
> Also... not sure about the charges and jail times. A little internet research got me those, but how accurate that is... debatable.

* * *

“I think someone owes me an explanation,” Carson Drew began, getting everyone's attention on him as he did. “There are an awful lot of people in my house all of a sudden, and I don't remember being told I was having this much company.”

Nancy winced as she saw her father in the doorway. All of their voices must have woken him as well, and she found herself in the uncomfortable place of having to own up to her lies of omission. She knew better than to do it, but she'd just wanted a bit more time to investigate before she admitted to him how bad things were with Frank. She could always say she thought Hannah already told him, right?

“I'm Fenton Hardy,” the boys' father said, and Carson nodded. She figured he had already recognized the man from the newspaper articles and his file, but he let Fenton go on without interruption. “My sons Frank and Joe. I haven't gotten all the details yet, but I believe I have your daughter to thank for Frank's life.”

Carson frowned, turning to Nancy. She swallowed, knowing this story was overdue. “I told you Barron implicated Frank in his attack—and I'd already had a few... encounters with him that made me a little suspicious. Turns out they were about his father and the situation he and Joe were in, but they looked like something else at the time. I followed Frank to his foster home, and when Bess told me how upset Joe was about Frank missing their scheduled meeting... I took a look around the store and found Frank. I got him out and did what I could for his injuries.”

“We now think that Frank's social worker may have put him in the path of a killer deliberately,” George added, shaking her head. She still seemed pretty angry about that, but Nancy knew how strongly George felt about bullies, and this was worse than leaving a couple kids in the hands of bully. Marasco wasn't just abusive. He was a killer, and Frank wasn't the only one who could have died at his hands—Bess had been in his grasp and Joe, too.

“We'll have to see about her in the morning,” Fenton said, shaking his head. “Right now, we can't do much. I know we'll have to go to the authorities, but I wish we had more to go on. King's books aren't enough to stop any of this, and even with what happened to Frank—”

“First degree assault could carry a term of twenty years,” Joe said, but Frank just shook his head. “Well, it _could._ It should. He could go away for a while.”

“More like... third... and five years at most,” Frank muttered, closing his eyes.

Nancy winced, but she did almost agree. Since Frank had been in a foster home, it would be treated more like a domestic assault, which did fall under a lesser degree in assault charges, one that as Frank said would only carry about five years in jail.

“But he threatened Bess, too,” Joe said. “If George hadn't hit him with her car—”

“Marasco will... use that against... us,” Frank said, shifting in the bed. “Attorney... twist it around.”

“I'm afraid I'd agree with that,” Carson said. “A good defense attorney will try and make Marasco out to be the victim. He'd claim Frank started the fight. Marasco may have hurt him, but in defense. Then with George hitting him with a car...”

Bess groaned. “What are we going to do? If Marasco gets away with this, he'll get out and come after us all. This time he _will_ kill Frank.”

“Not if you we can tie him to the body,” Nancy said, and everyone stared at her. She met Frank's gaze. “You were sure that you saw blood in Marasco's store, right? You suspected he'd just finished killing someone. That blood won't have gone away. If we had a body for the police to tie to Marasco's store, add in what you know of when that blood was on the floor... Maybe even get a forensic anthropologist give expert testimony about wounds a man like Marasco would leave behind on a body... Then maybe we could get him for this murder.”

“Sounds logical,” Carson said, though with an edge in his voice. Her father was not happy about any of this.

“Only one problem with that,” Joe said, looking at his brother. “We have no idea who Marasco killed, do we?”

* * *

“No,” Frank answered, hand on his side as he tried to ride out a bad wave of pain. He hadn't seen anyone at Marasco's store that could have been the victim. He'd forgotten to ask Nancy about it, but he didn't think that she would have seen the victim, not when the body was already gone by the time Frank walked into the store room. Now that they suspected Hausler, it seemed more likely that Marasco had never been married, so it wasn't likely to have been his wife—though he'd avoided the folder on Marasco when looking over his father's files, so he wasn't sure. “I didn't see a body... or hear any voices. I walked... into the backroom... saw blood... tried to leave. Marasco grabbed me. Rest... you know.”

Carson Drew looked about as unhappy as Frank's father did. Still, Fenton wasn't a world famous detective for nothing. He met the other man's gaze and held it. “I think we can both agree that we want to get the kids out of this mess without anyone else getting hurt—”

“Dad, no,” Joe said, shaking his head. “You're not going to turn yourself in just to get these guys off Frank. Then you'll end up dead, and we'll be back where we started from—only worse.”

Frank poked his brother. “Mom and Gertrude... alive... just... out of contact because... Dad asked.”

Joe made a face. “Well, on the one hand, that's a relief, but on the other hand, it pisses me off.”

Fenton nodded. “I can't blame either of you for being upset, but we will get through this. And I wasn't talking about announcing I was alive, not yet, anyway.”

Nancy turned to him. “You want to confront the social worker first. If she admits that she put Frank there on purpose, you could get her to roll over with what she knows, and if that isn't enough, she might even agree to a sting operation.”

“And there is still the option of Mr. King,” Bess added. “Mrs. King has health problems and he's got two kids. Maybe he would be willing to testify if he can get witness protection and help for her.”

“I don't know,” Joe said. “He seems pretty selfish to me.”

Frank lifted a hand, and Nancy took the hint. “And there's also Barron. He accused Frank, which means he's involved somehow—we suspect a gambling problem. He's also scared—someone _did_ attack him in his lab—so he might be persuaded to talk. We have more than one option here, and even if they're not enough on their own, maybe in combination, it's enough.”

“I certainly hope so,” Drew said, giving Frank a look. “You should be in the hospital.”

“Fine,” Frank said, and just about everyone snorted in disbelief.

“I agree with Mr. Drew,” Fenton said. “You should be in the hospital. I understand why you didn't risk it before, but as soon as we can, we are getting you to a doctor.”

Frank rolled his eyes. If this was going to kill him, it would already have done it. He would like to speed up the healing of his ribs and make it easier to breathe, but no doctor was going to fix it miraculously. He just needed more time.

“Seems like someone doesn't like that idea.”

Fenton looked over at Drew. “Well, both of my sons are pretty darn stubborn, and neither one of them has liked the doctor much, not since they were little and getting shots. It just got worse when they got older and started getting in real trouble. It's a good thing their mother isn't here. Seeing Frank like this would take a few years off her life.”

Frank managed a smile. “And if Aunt Gertrude was here...”

“Don't remind me,” Fenton said with a grimace. “I love my sister, but she's... something else. She's not going to let me forget this anytime soon, that's for sure.”

“None of us will, I suspect,” Drew said, looking around the room. “Well, I can't offer much more than the couch since our guest room is already occupied, but you're welcome to it, Mr. Hardy. Since there's nothing we can do until morning, we may as well get some rest. Then we can start putting all of these plans into motion.”

“I agree,” Fenton said, and Frank watched the two of them leave the room.

“Our fathers are getting along,” Joe said to Nancy, frowning. “I'm not sure I like that very much.”

Nancy shrugged. “It might be for the best. Dad has connections your father can use to help us set up the various stings we'll need, and we'll have this resolved soon.”

“Besides, if Nancy's dad and your dad didn't get along, that would make things very awkward for her and Frank,” Bess teased, elbowing Joe. His eyes widened, and Frank bit back a curse. Nothing had happened between him and Nancy besides some strange almost flirting, but knowing his brother, Joe would never let him hear the end of it.

* * *

“This is the best breakfast I've ever eaten,” Joe said, stuffing another bit of pancake into his mouth. Bess smiled at him, while George looked like she thought he was a pig at best. He didn't mind. He wasn't really out to impress George. Impressing Bess, on the other hand, he liked doing, and it was almost too easy. “Thank you, Hannah.”

“You're welcome,” Hannah told him, putting another stack on his plate and making herself his new favorite person. “Go ahead and eat up.”

Joe did. He'd been looking forward to more of Hannah's cooking. The woman was amazing, better than most people he knew, though if he said that to his mother or aunt, they'd both be pretty upset. He didn't have any plans to tell them—he wasn't _that_ stupid—but he knew he would be comparing every dish he got to what Hannah would have made. The only shame of it was that Frank couldn't enjoy any of this. That thought that almost made him lose his appetite. “I just wish Frank was up to eating with the rest of us.”

Hannah clucked her tongue, chiding him. “Don't worry about your brother. I'll see to it he gets plenty of food, just like the rest of you. We'll take good care of him.”

“I know,” Joe said. He took another bite of his food. It was good, and things were looking up. Their father was alive, they had a plan—three of them, actually—and Frank was doing better. Some of the bruises looked worse, but that was how healing worked, and Joe was trying not to let that get to him. “I am going to miss this cooking when we go home.”

Bess frowned. “I hadn't really thought about that before. You will be going back to Bayport, won't you? That's half a country away.”

“Relax, Bess,” Nancy said, touching her friend's arm. “They're not leaving this instant. For one thing, Frank isn't ready to move—and definitely not to fly. For another, I don't think any of the Hardys would leave before arrests were made. There's still time to work things out—like how to keep in contact.”

“I think Bess might be afraid of the long distance part,” George said. She looked at Joe. “What about you? You think you can handle it?”

Joe smiled. “For the right girl, definitely.”

“And is Bess the right girl?” George pressed. Joe got the feeling she was rather protective of her cousin. “Because if she's not, you better admit it right now. If not, and you break her heart—”

“You'll run me over?”

George smiled. “Maybe.”


	15. Countless Confrontations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Confronting the suspects is in order.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, this was... hard. The only confrontation that came even remotely easily was Fenton and Hausler, and I don't know that it's at all in character.
> 
> *sigh*

* * *

“Dad gets to confront Hausler, Mr. Drew is going to approach King, and that leaves us with Barron,” Joe groused, pacing near the foot of the bed. “That's not even a good confrontation. The guy is really pathetic and still in the hospital—at least for now. So maybe we get a little whining or a hot denial, but it's not much.”

Frank rolled his eyes, but Joe really didn't like being sidelined in this. Barron wasn't their bad guy, not one they'd had any real interaction with. King Joe wouldn't mind intimidating into doing the right thing for his wife and kids, and he wanted to do something to Hausler for sticking Frank where she had, but Barron? Joe didn't know the guy, didn't care about him. He wasn't happy about him accusing his brother of something Frank didn't do, but that wasn't the same. Marasco had hurt Frank, tried to hurt Bess. Hausler had made that possible. King was a weirdo. Barron... didn't seem important.

“Should be glad they're letting you go at all,” Frank said. He took a couple deep breaths, and Joe could tell he was still hurting. “Marasco...”

“Yeah,” Joe finished. That guy was still out there, and he knew all of them by now—maybe not Nancy, but she was the only one and it wouldn't take much for him to find her. They were fortunate that Fenton and Drew hadn't wanted to lock them all up in the house to keep them safe or something.

And it wasn't like Frank could go anywhere. He was stuck in that bed while the rest of them got to do the fun things. Joe was glad that wasn't him. He needed to be doing something about this, even if it was only talking to Barron.

“We're all going to be very careful,” Nancy said. “We still don't know for sure if there is a connection between Barron and the mob. We don't have proof that he has a gambling problem.”

Joe looked at his brother. “We could.”

Nancy shook her head. “You know, for two guys who supposedly work on the side of the law and the good guys, you two really do enjoy breaking the law.”

“Says the girl who... broke into Marasco's store,” Frank said. “Computer crimes... relatively harmless in comparison.”

“Sure they are,” George muttered. “Computer crime is the way of the future, isn't it? Identity theft, phishing, data leaks...”

“Don't tell him that. He'll actually go for some kind of degree or expertise in cyber crime, and I'll never see my brother again. He'll disappear into a world of computers forever,” Joe said, getting another eyeroll from the girls.

“Technology and forensic advancement is important,” Frank said, wheezing at the end of it. He looked annoyed by his own weakness.

“You should rest,” Nancy told him. “None of us got much sleep last night, and while you're sounding a little better today, you look worse.”

“Bruises do that.”

“Frank, please,” Nancy said. “You're still the main evidence we have against Marasco, and from what little I've seen, your mind is too gifted for you to waste by not allowing yourself to heal. With any luck, this will all be over soon.”

George eyed him. “One of us could stay with him and make sure he gets his rest.”

Frank snorted. “Better not be Joe. Not a moment's peace with him around.”

Bess giggled, and Joe mouthed _traitor_ to her. She just grinned back at him. George and Nancy smiled. Nancy started for the door, and he waited for the other girls to leave. He went over to Frank's side and looked down at him.

“Be careful,” they said at the same time.

Frank sighed. “I'm not going anywhere. You... don't... Don't underestimate this guy.”

“I won't.”

* * *

“Diane.”

The social worker jumped. Fenton had spooked her, and he was glad of it. She deserved at least that much and more if she had deliberately sent his son into danger. He had trusted her, and she'd betrayed him, putting the life of one of his boys at risk. If Frank had died, Fenton didn't know what he'd have done to her.

“Fenton,” she hissed out. “You shouldn't be here.”

“I know that.” Fenton leaned over her desk. “What was it, Diane? A threat? Money? What did they give you to betray my son the way you did?”

She stared at him, shaking her head. “That's crazy. I didn't betray anyone. I wouldn't hurt a child. I became a social worker to _help_ children. You know this.”

“I thought I did. I thought I knew you.” Fenton's voice went cold with barely restrained fury. “That was before you sent my son to his death. Don't lie to me. You knew there was no way Frank stood a chance against Marasco. You can't claim he'd be fine because he wasn't a girl and Marasco was apparently a pervert. You can't say he'd be able to fight—that man is three times his size. And one thing that everyone remarks upon—that even _you've_ said to me before—is that Frank looks just like me. Marasco was bound to know who he was no matter _what_ name you gave him. So I'm going to ask you again—why did you send my son in there to die?”

“Fenton, I swear—”

He took hold of her arms. “You swear what? That you're a lying, no-good murderer?”

“Frank's not dead! Marasco wanted to use him as bait to get to you. He knew if he had one of your boys you'd have to show yourself, and you did. Frank was the obvious choice—he looked like you and he was less likely to push Marasco too far.”

Fenton let go, stepping back. “You let him hurt one of my boys to lure me out?”

“I was trying to buy time,” she said, shaking her head. “Marasco wanted me to give him a girl first, but when he heard you were declared dead, he demanded one of the boys. I knew you'd come forward for them. You couldn't abandon the boys.”

“We were _friends,”_ Fenton said, disgusted by the word. “If Marasco was threatening you, you could have told me. I would have helped you. Instead you put my kids at risk, me at risk... And for what? What did he have on you that turned you against me?”

She lowered her head. “You know Bernie left me with a lot of debts...”

“You did it for _money?”_

Fenton turned away, needing distance to keep him from hurting her. He was too close to the edge. Seeing Marasco's store, the blood, that room upstairs... then finding Frank at the Drew home—if Frank was actually dead, Fenton might have killed her on the spot. If he'd lost _either_ of his boys, he'd have been tempted.

“I'm sorry.”

“Sorry is not good enough,” Fenton told her. “You're going to have to do a lot better than that—starting with testifying against Marasco.”

“No, I can't—”

“You will.”

* * *

“Mr. Barron?” Nancy asked as she led the others into his hospital room. “I have a few more questions for you.”

“Nancy?”

She could tell he wasn't happy to see them, but she didn't care. She was ready to bluff, confident enough in Frank's theory that she couldn't wait to confront Barron with it. She would wait for proof most days, but this was different. She wanted to end the threat to all three of the Hardys and make sure that they were able to go home safe.

“I wanted to ask you about the boy you said you saw,” Nancy told him. She wanted confirmation first. “Can you describe him again?”

Barron's expression was far from happy, but he seemed willing to cooperate, at least for now. “I told you—Maybe six foot or a little taller. Thin frame, but not too skinny. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Wore a green shirt with something about a bay on it.”

Though Nancy had heard a little more hesitation when she spoke to him before, she couldn't help noticing that his phrasing was almost word for word the same as the last time. Barron had practiced his speech, memorized it.

“So you're accusing Frank Hardy of being your attacker?”

Barron frowned. He looked at the other girls, but Bess and George kept silent, letting Nancy lead the conversation. “I don't know what you're talking about. I didn't know him. I told you that before. This name... Frank Hardy? It means nothing to me.”

Joe folded his arms over his chest. “That's funny. You just described my brother, but he was with me when your lab was broken into. You want to tell me why you think Frank did it?”

Barron shook his head. “I don't know you. I don't know your brother. I'm telling you about the kid I saw. That's all.”

“Mr. Barron,” Nancy said, leaning in on the bed. “Who told you to accuse Frank? Who gave you that description?”

“No one told me to—”

“You like to gamble, don't you?” Joe asked, striking a nerve immediately. “Harmless fun, right? A few bucks here and there on a game, but then you pick wrong a few too many times...”

“It was your bookie, wasn't it?” Nancy asked, thinking she and Joe made a pretty good team. Was this what he did with Frank? He was good at it. “He said you could clear some of your debts to the DeLucas if you did them a favor and helped pin this on a thorn in their side. You were given an exact description of Frank and told to say he was the one who attacked you so that if Frank tried to tell anyone what he knew, no one would believe him.”

Barron glared at them, and then, out of nowhere, he lunged at Joe, knocking him down. Joe's head hit the floor with a loud noise close to a crack, and Nancy winced. Barron hit him again before he took off running, and she left Bess to check on Joe while she and George ran after Barron.

* * *

Though sleeping had been the last thing on Frank's mind when everyone left, he did managed to fall asleep after he was alone. He didn't have anything to occupy his mind—no files, no laptop, just worries, and while they wanted to keep him awake, he wasn't capable of fighting off the pain as well as the exhaustion.

Frank felt like his eyes had just drifted shut when he jerked back awake, trying to understand what woke him. Another bang came from downstairs, and he frowned. Everything still hurt, but he needed to know what had made that noise. He dragged himself out of the bed, using the edge of it to keep himself upright as he made his way to the door. He paused, struggling for air, and he heard something shatter as he stumbled to the railing.

“Hannah?”

She didn't answer, so Frank forced himself down the stairs. He knew he shouldn't be moving, but he had to get to the kitchen. He didn't know where the nearest phone was, but there had to be one in the kitchen, where the housekeeper probably was, and if she had fallen or maybe had a heart attack, he needed to get to her and get her some help. That was worth his pain and discomfort. Joe would never forgive him for letting something happen to a cook that good.

He walked along the wall, using it for support as he went toward the kitchen. Winded, he stopped just inside the door. He was about to call for Hannah again when he saw the source of the noise.

He didn't see the housekeeper, though. He had to hope she wasn't hurt, but he didn't much like the odds, not when that man was standing in front of him. “Marasco.”

“Frankie boy,” Marasco said with a grin that made Frank sick. “So good of you to come. It's time we had another chat.”


	16. Heroes, Villains, and the In-Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nancy, George, Bess, and Joe continue their pursuit of Barron. Fenton and Carson talk. Frank faces Marasco.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I ended up struggling so much to write this chapter I took a procrastination break and made a couple cover art pieces for stories instead. I don't have much skill for that, but I made some alterations at least.

* * *

“Joe?”

Bess had to keep herself from shaking him. She wanted him awake, but if he'd hurt his head bad when Barron jumped out of bed and attacked him, she didn't dare shake him. She wished Nancy and George hadn't run off, too, but she knew that someone had to stop Barron. He couldn't get away with what he'd done to Joe.

“Ow,” Joe moaned. “What ran me over?”

“A science teacher.”

“What?”

Bess almost laughed. That shouldn't be funny, but for some reason it seemed to be. She smiled at him, touching his cheek. “I'm glad you're awake. That was one hard hit you took.”

“Was... nothing...” Joe tried to sit up and almost fell back. He groaned, putting a hand on his head. She was sure that he hurt—Barron had gotten him pretty good just in knocking him over, but he'd hit him as well, and Bess wouldn't be surprised if his nose had gotten broken in all that, too.

“Easy. That might not have been Marasco, but you still got hurt. We need to find you a doctor.”

“It's fine. I have a hard head,” Joe said. He laughed. “You should hear my family tease me about it. Frank's the worst. Though he's not much better. He's always getting concussions, too. Comes with the job, I guess. Didn't figure Barron for the type, though. Did not see that coming.”

“None of us did,” Bess admitted. “I think we all thought he'd be the easiest to convince. I hope that the interviews with Hausler and King went better than this one did.”

Joe grunted, turning over and trying again to get up. “Wasn't that bad.”

She shook her head. “I don't know who's worse—you or Nancy or even your brother. You all seem to think that these injuries are nothing, that it's all fun and games, but you just got hurt. Frank almost died. Why would any of this seem like... fun?”

“Because it is?” Joe answered, and Bess shook her head. As much as she enjoyed helping Nancy sometimes, she didn't know that she was ever going to be on the same level with them as far as loving mysteries and seeking out trouble went. Same with Joe.

“Let's find you a doctor.”

“I want to know what happened to Barron.”

“Doctor first,” Bess insisted. “We might not have been able to take your brother to one, but we are in a hospital. There is absolutely no excuse for you not to see a doctor, Mister. We are going to find you one right now.”

“Bess—”

“No way,” Bess said, shaking her head as she helped him stand the rest of the way up. “No excuses. No distractions. No pleading. You are not getting out of this one. I am getting you looked at by a doctor, and when that is done—not a moment before—then we can find Nancy and George and Barron. He has a lot of explaining to do.”

* * *

“I swear, I've never been so close to hurting anyone in my life, and I was a cop,” Fenton admitted, shaking his head as he did. “I've had to do plenty of things in the line of duty that I never would have thought I was capable of, but it's being a father that's the true test—I could have killed her for what she did to my son. Not that she actually hurt Frank, but Marasco came close, and it could have been Joe. If it was Joe, it might even have been worse.”

Drew looked at him, and Fenton sighed. It almost seemed like that lawyer didn't understand one bit of what Fenton was saying, and he found that hard to believe. 

“I thought your daughter was a detective. Doesn't she ever get into situations where you find yourself... struggling to remain calm?”

“That is an understatement,” Drew said. He shook his head. “I know, most of the time, that Nancy can handle herself and is good at what she does. Then there are the times when I can't function because of the fear. She's my only child. I lost her mother. If I lost Nancy, I don't know what I'd do.”

“Funny thing is, all I can hear now is my sister lecturing me on how I take my family for granted, how I shouldn't let the boys do half of what they do, how I should protect them more...” Fenton lowered his head. “I really screwed this one up. Trusting Hausler...”

“You weren't the only one who did,” Drew told him. “When Nancy told me that the boys' social worker had split them up, I had a feeling she'd want to push to change that. I saw Hausler's record—it was spotless. If she hadn't placed Frank where she did, she wouldn't have a blemish on it. She had a reputation for being one of the best, one who cared about each kid she took on and fought for them. She's well-liked and well-respected. I thought it would be easy to get her on my side if Nancy wanted to get the boys into another home where they'd be together.”

Fenton grimaced. “I should have known from the moment she admitted to separating them that something was wrong, but I wasn't in a position to do much at the time. I didn't dare risk coming out of hiding until I had the evidence I needed. Frank getting hurt changed all that.”

Drew nodded. “I have some good news for you. I spoke to my colleagues, and they were more than willing to offer King a deal. When they did, King jumped at the chance. Apparently, all those years doing mob books had made him a little paranoid, and he was tired of hiding in his office all the time. He was eager to start a new life—and his wife should get the help she needs. The girls will be disappointed—they're good friends with the twins, but I think overall, it is for the best.”

“I agree. With Hausler and King set to testify, we have part of what we need. I just wish I felt like it was enough. I can't prove anyone tried to kill me, and though they clearly did hurt Frank, I'm afraid he's right about his estimate of how long Marasco would get—if he serves any time at all.” Fenton balled a fist. “We need him on a murder. That's the only thing that will keep him locked up for long enough to make sure my sons stay safe. Otherwise, he'll go after Frank again.”

Drew nodded. “Your son could be right about something else as well.”

“You mean the body? We don't even know who Marasco might have killed.”

“Still, if they can find it, then they can tie him to it. That should be enough to keep him away for a long time—and make sure your family is safe.”

* * *

“Nancy, he's heading for the stairs!” George called out, though why she and Nancy were the only ones who seemed to notice that a man wearing nothing but a hospital gown was running through the hallway, bumping into nurses and other patients along the way. She would have expected someone—or something to have stopped him by now.

She almost wished that new friend of Bess' hadn't been hit so hard. Joe was built like a linebacker, and if he'd been there to tackle Barron, all of this would have been over by now. That had to be why Barron had gone after him first. He'd been smart about _that_ part, at least, though he should just have stayed and accepted what Nancy was about to offer him instead of running.

He was just in debt to a bookie, right? Why run?

“Let's try and cut him off,” Nancy said. “Do you think you can jump that desk?”

“What am I, Wonder Woman?”

“Supergirl?”

George grunted. “And if there is any kryptonite around here?”

“Throw it at Barron?” Nancy joked feebly, going around the one side of the nurse's desk. Barron was just about to get to the stairwell when the door opened, knocking him back. The orderly who'd just come in frowned down at him.

Barron tried to get up and get past him, but the orderly had bodyblocked the door. He wasn't going anywhere. George stopped, catching her breath in gratitude for not having to attempt any kind of crazy stunt. None of them were superheroes around here. Nancy hurried over, smiling at their newest friend.

“Thank you for stopping him. This guy just attacked a friend of ours and seems to have a lot more trouble on his hands than we thought,” Nancy told him before looking down at Barron. “There's more to this than the money you lost gambling, isn't there?”

“You're just a stupid girl,” Barron said. “Not a detective. No one has to tell you anything. You don't know. You've got no idea.”

Nancy folded her arms over her chest. “If you don't think anything of my abilities, why did you lie to me from the beginning? Maybe you delayed my investigation a little with your first vague description of your attacker, but I knew you lied about Frank being the one who attacked you. Your gambling habit is dangerous, Mr. Barron. It led you right into the hands of very dangerous people. They weren't just threatening you that day in your lab, were they? They wanted more from you than a few bad debts. What were they hoping to do? Use you to control drug trade at the school? River Heights is a different market from Chicago, but expanding their territory would be a bonus, wouldn't it? You weren't scared at first, but something really spooked you—and it wasn't that bump on your head.”

George looked at her, thinking Nancy was reaching with this one. It sounded a bit far-fetched.

“You were used to meeting only with your bookie,” Nancy went on. “You didn't know just how deep he was in with the DeLuca family, did you? Only... your bookie isn't your contact anymore. He's dead. You're now dealing with a man who could crush you with his bare hands—Marasco.”

George looked at Nancy. Maybe now they knew who had died in Marasco's store just before Frank walked in. If they were right—then maybe they could finally pin something on Marasco and get him away for life.

“You don't know what you're dealing with,” Barron said. “These people—”

“Almost killed a friend of ours,” Nancy cut in. “We know what we're up against, but with what you know and what he knows, we might just be able to stop them.”

* * *

“I'm not really... wanting another conversation with you,” Frank said, moving along the counter. He needed to get to Hannah and see if she was badly hurt. He didn't think he could get to the phone, not with the handset over behind Marasco. He would like to get help here, but he didn't think he had a way of doing that.

“Too bad, Frankie. I enjoyed our last chat.”

Frank gagged. He gripped the counter, trying to stay upright. “What did you do to Hannah?”

“What's it to you, kid? This ain't about no one named Hannah,” Marasco said. “This is about you and me continuing a few things that we started. And about that pain in the ass father of yours and your brother.”

Frank would not let Marasco anywhere Joe. Or his dad. He might still be a little mad at Fenton for using them the way he had and not letting them know he was alive. “Just you and me. Not them.”

“Tangle with one Hardy, you tangle with them all, or so I've found,” Marasco said, advancing toward Frank. “You've already caused me enough trouble. The others I can deal with later—since they'll come looking for you, it'll make it that much easier for me.”

Frank had figured on that part of the plan. He didn't want to be bait, but he wasn't sure he had a choice. With the phone and back door behind Marasco, those weren't options, and running in the opposite direction would only buy him a few seconds at most.

Still, he had to try it. He pushed away from the counter and ran. He made it a few steps before Marasco caught hold of him. He smacked Frank into the counter, and Frank couldn't breathe even before the man's hand moved to this throat.

“I've been looking forward to having my hands on you again,” Marasco said, leaning into Frank. He heard a thunk, and Marasco swore. Then another thunk came, and Marasco loosened his hold. Frank watched with a frown as Marasco stumbled to the side, slumping against the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“Cast iron,” Hannah said, looking at the pan in her hands. “Still took two hits.”

Frank wanted to smile, but he didn't feel up to it. Marasco had a bad habit of getting up from hits like that. “Better call the police.”

She nodded, setting down the pan.

“And Hannah?”

“Yes?”

“Thanks.”


	17. All Wrapped Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things wind down some, and everyone gathers to wrap things up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to wrap stuff up is hard. I think I got all the pieces, but it didn't feel very right when I started it. (There was a "I hope this is the migraine saying it's bad... oh, wait, it's still bad" when I got off of work and was able to look at it again.) I did try and fix that, though.
> 
> So now it just needs a sort of epilogue, I think, and that means the boys will be heading home soon...

* * *

“I'm fine,” Joe said for the fiftieth time since he'd gotten hit. Bess was getting pretty sick of hearing that, though she was relieved by the words at the same time. “They didn't even insist on keeping me overnight. I'm gonna be fine.”

“I don't know who's worse—you or your brother,” George observed. Bess and Nancy both nodded in agreement. The Hardy brothers were stubborn and not the type to admit they were hurt, ever. Joe could have cracked his skull on that floor, but he acted like the fall and punch were nothing, just like Frank had tried to say that him being on death's door was nothing.

“Mom says that's a contest no one can win,” Joe told her, grinning. “And does that ever piss off Aunt Gertrude. Man, she would have a lot to say about this. I can just hear the lecture. I bet Dad's going to avoid her for weeks. I know I would, and I didn't even do anything wrong. This time.”

“This time?” Bess asked, suspicious. She put her hands on her hips and studied him. “What exactly does that mean, Joe Hardy? Are you some sort of trouble magnet?”

Joe rubbed his head. “Hey, I'm injured. You can't go picking on me, now can you?”

“Sure we can,” George said, smiling with amusement. “What did you do? You know if you won't tell us, we'll just have to ask Frank, and I think he'd tell us. Gladly, even.”

“And if not, we can always get Nancy to get it out of him,” Bess added, grinning as she looked at her friend. Nancy frowned, shaking her head as she did.

“Not everyone likes to flirt like you do, Bess, and I don't think my charms work on Frank,” Nancy said, uncomfortable. “Besides, he could have a girlfriend back home. I don't think anyone asked him about that.”

Bess turned to Joe. “Does he?”

Joe shrugged. “There's sort of someone—as in she likes him but Frank's kind of oblivious to it. He thinks they're just good friends. Story of Frank's life, I think. He'll always think he's just a friend. Me? I like to test those waters. You never know until you really try, right?”

“Nope,” Bess agreed, smiling at him. George rolled her eyes, and Nancy laughed a little.

“Speaking of trying,” Joe said, studying her. “You want to go out? They're letting me out of the hospital, we've confronted all the suspects, and Marasco should be in jail in no time. Sounds like a good time to celebrate.”

“I'd like that,” Bess agreed with a faint flush in her cheeks.

“Some celebration,” George muttered under her breath, and Nancy turned to her. “What thanks do we get for our part in it? You rescue Frank, I hit a murderer with my car, and they're going to celebrate on their own?”

“I think we'd rather miss their idea of celebrating,” Nancy said. “But you and I can still do something, and if you want, we'll do it at my house and even include Frank, since he's still not going anywhere—except maybe the hospital.”

“Okay, I take it back—he's the one that really won't be celebrating,” George said. “That is not anything to look forward to.”

“No kidding,” Joe said. “I can't wait to get out of here. Let's go.”

* * *

“That is so not your dad's car,” Bess observed as Nancy pulled up to her house. She parked the car behind the one Bess was pointing to, not shutting off the engine. “And somehow, I don't think that belongs to your dad, either.”

Joe shook his head, almost laughing at the idea. “No. Not that Dad won't use whatever he has to for an investigation or to keep a cover, but that thing? It's like... death on wheels meets bad taste anywhere, and even though Dad is supposed to be dead, he wouldn't be caught dead in that thing.”

“Uh... Nancy? Care to share?”

Nancy swallowed. “That car... is the one I saw Marasco drive away in the day I rescued Frank from his store.”

Joe jumped out of the car, running toward the house. Bess stared after him, shaking her head. “He's crazy. Has he forgotten that last time we went up against this guy, it took a car to bring him down? And he didn't even stay down. He just...”

George put a hand on her cousin's shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “We'll figure out something. If nothing else, we can hit him with a car again.”

Nancy almost smiled. She wouldn't mind hitting Marasco with her car—none of them would, honestly, but she was hoping that wouldn't be necessary. If it was, that would mean that Marasco had already taken out Frank, Joe—and Hannah. She left the car, running up to the house and in the front door.

“Hannah? Frank? Joe?”

“I like how I rank last on that list,” Joe said, though he was just teasing, judging from the smile on his face. He waved them all into the living room. “Come on, this you have to see.”

Nancy frowned, but she did as he suggested, going into the other room. Frank shot her a pleading glance—Joe was clearly enjoying his torment—as Hannah fussed over him again, trying to feed him one second and then fluff his pillows the next. Beside her was a cast iron pan, though it didn't have any food in it.

“That's not even the best part,” Joe said, gesturing to behind the couch. “I give you Vincente Marasco.”

Bess gasped, but George snorted with laughter at the sight of the big man trussed like a pig behind the couch. Nancy looked at his head and the blood and back at the pan. “So... wait, which one of you hit him with the pan?”

“I did,” Hannah said proudly. “Four times.”

“Four?”

“Twice in the kitchen,” Frank said, shifting on the pillows and putting up his hands to stop Hannah from adjusting them. “And another two times... after he followed us here.”

“This one was too stubborn to go back upstairs,” Hannah said, shaking her head at Frank. “So I brought him out here to the couch, and then that... behemoth came after us. I had to hit him again, and I gave him another whack just for good measure.”

“Go Hannah,” George said with a smile.

“My hero,” Joe said, going over to her. Frank frowned at him. “She is an amazing cook, and she saved my brother's life. I think you have some competition, Bess. I might just have to try and steal this one away from the Drews.”

Hannah blushed. Frank rolled his eyes. Bess pouted a little, going along with him. George added another eyeroll to the mix.

Nancy looked back at Marasco. “If you had him knocked out and tied up, why is he still here and why are there no police?”

“He cut the phone line... smashed Hannah's cellphone,” Frank answered. “Had to wait... since she wouldn't leave me behind.”

Hannah shook her head. “You could have been killed if I hadn't come back from the store when I did, and since he refused to stay down, there was no leaving you. You're not healed yet. You need to rest now. Should never have come downstairs.”

“I thought you'd gotten hurt,” Frank told her. “I had to see if you were okay.”

She smiled. “So sweet. Yet so very stubborn.”

“That is Frank for you,” Joe said, sitting down next to his brother and poking him, since a shove would have made Frank scream in pain. “Nice going.”

“I don't think you have any room to talk,” Nancy said. “After all, you weren't willing to stay in the hospital despite Barron hitting you in the head.”

“What?” Frank demanded, turning to his brother. Joe groaned, making Bess laugh.

“They checked me out. I'm okay,” Joe told him. He grinned. “And on the plus side, we think we know who Marasco killed. See, Barron ran in a panic, and when he did, we knew that it wasn't just about a few debts. It was—”

“Marasco killed his bookie.”

Joe folded his arms over his chest, frowning at his brother. “Why do you always do that? You ruined my big reveal.”

Frank gave him a half-smile. “Sorry.”

* * *

“Well, that just about wraps it up, no pun intended,” Fenton said, looking down at Marasco. Joe wondered what his dad was thinking—was he tempted to do something to this guy, too? It would be easy enough with Marasco in that state, and he deserved it after what he did to Frank. Joe wouldn't mind getting a few minutes alone with him, making sure that Marasco felt just a little of what he was due for what he'd done to Frank.

“Pun was intended,” Frank muttered, closing his eyes. Joe caught the tone, and he frowned. Frank didn't get mad often, but it was still clear he wasn't happy with their father, and it wasn't because of a bad joke.

Fenton tried to smile, but he didn't quite manage it. “I think maybe we should take this opportunity to get you to a doctor.”

Frank shook his head. “I don't need one. I've survived this long without one seeing me, and I can go on not seeing one.”

“Your mother and aunt will not accept that, and we should get their opinion on whether or not you should fly in your condition,” Fenton told him, and Frank closed his eyes, biting back whatever he might have said to that—Joe figured it would have been good, but Frank would have regretted it later.

“Flying?” Bess asked, turning to Joe before looking at Fenton. “You'd really just... leave like that? You barely have the cops on the way to arrest Marasco, but you're going to get on a plane right afterward?”

Fenton gave her an apologetic smile. “I'd like to leave sooner rather than later. It was never my intention to stay away as long as we did. We've neglected the house and the business for months, and we have a lot of rebuilding ahead of us when we get back.”

He gave Frank a glance, but Frank was looking at his hands and didn't meet it.

“I suppose that's only practical,” Nancy agreed. “The boys will have a lot of schoolwork to catch up on, and Frank will probably recover better in his own home.”

Bess nodded. “Yeah, I guess. I just...”

“Hey, we're still going out for our celebration,” Joe told her, reaching for her hand. “We can't get a flight right this second. And don't think we won't ever see each other again even if I do end up on plane tomorrow. Frank will have to come back to testify, same with Dad, and they might want some of my expertise, too, so we'll see each other again.”

“Good,” Bess told him. “Because even if this never goes beyond one date, I can't imagine not having you in my life somehow, Joe.”

“See? I'm irresistible.”

“You're ridiculous,” Frank corrected, getting laughter from everyone around them.

“If there is to be a celebration dinner, I had better get started making it,” Hannah said, rising. She stopped to adjust Frank's pillows again, and Joe hoped she didn't see the way his brother balled his fist.

“No, Hannah, you're the hero here,” Joe told him. “We should take you out to dinner. You deserve a reward. And I say that as someone who loves your cooking and would gladly stuff my face with all that I can get of it.”

“Frank can't go out to dinner,” Hannah said, shaking her head. “I'll make something here, and you can go out another night.”

Frank lifted one of the offending pillows and threw it at Joe. “Go clean the kitchen.”

“What?”

“Marasco made a mess, and if you really want to reward Hannah...” Frank said, and Joe glared at him even as he knew he was going to get stuck doing it. “Go help clean up.”

“It's not a crime scene anymore?” Joe asked, kind of hoping it was.

“Not anymore,” Carson Drew said, joining them. “McGinnis just told me they were wrapping up in there. So if Hannah wants to cook, she can. And you can help her clean up.”

Joe stifled a groan.


	18. Final Resolutions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A few conversations and the boys return home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Endings are difficult. I wasn't expecting this one to come as fast as it did, but since the case is basically wrapped up, minus a certain testimony and trial. So I thought three scenes should hopefully be a good epilogue, covering the last of the personal stuff, and that's what this is.

* * *

“So... what's the verdict?”

Frank sighed. “I guess I should consider myself lucky Dad wants to get back home. And luckier still that the doctors were willing—albeit reluctantly—to let him take me. Otherwise, I don't think I'd be getting out of here any time soon.”

Nancy gave him a sympathetic smile. She'd been told similar things before, and she hadn't liked them any more than he did, especially if she was in the middle of a case. “I'm sorry. I don't like hospitals any more than you do.”

“It's just... unnecessary. We all know if I was going to die from this, it would already have happened. Though Dad did remind me that all the wounds needed to be documented for assault charges against Marasco,” Frank added, grimacing again. “I don't even know that it's worth it—”

“Of course it is. Keeping Marasco behind bars is important,” Nancy said, frowning at him. “And you know that what you saw right before he attacked you is key to it all. They need your testimony to connect everything. Otherwise there's no proving that Marasco was the one behind the blood on the floor, even if we all know he was.”

Frank closed his eyes. “It doesn't seem like that much.”

Nancy reached over and put her hand on his. “I gather you're usually a lot more hands-on when it comes to solving cases—Joe certainly gives that impression—but even though you were laid up for most of this one, it's not like you did nothing to help wrap things up. You even went to rescue Hannah when you were injured.”

“And got rescued.”

“You really don't like feeling helpless, do you?”

“Does anyone?” Frank asked, shaking his head. “Normally when I feel like that, it's because Joe's in trouble and there's nothing I can do about it. This time, I couldn't do much of anything. And being the key because I had the dumb bad luck to walk in when I did...”

Nancy nodded. “Yeah, it never feels good to solve something because of luck. Though at least you weren't chasing the completely wrong suspect. I was.”

“And I suppose you expect me to forgive you for that?”

She frowned. “I thought... Wait. You are just teasing me, aren't you?”

“Teasing is usually Joe's role, but I couldn't resist. Especially since he's been gone a long time. I didn't expect everyone to leave us like that. First our fathers going off to finalize something with the district attorneys, then Joe and Bess being less than subtle about wanting to be alone with each other...”

Nancy nodded. “If George had been here or Hannah, it really would feel less like a coincidence and more like a set up of some kind.”

“Only for Joe. He's going to cram as much time in with Bess as he can before we go.”

“And you're stuck here,” Nancy said. “I'm sorry. I wish I knew of a way to help, but I can't speed up your healing. I suppose I might be persuaded to help sneak you out...”

Frank looked at her. “And if I had a case to bribe you with, that would be easy, wouldn't it?”

“Too easy,” she agreed. “I think I'd like a chance to work on a case with you—for real, this time.”

* * *

“I wonder how long Dad is going to be with whatever he has to do for this case,” Joe said, looking at the elevator. The waiting room wasn't exactly the best place to get a girl alone—not unless he was doing it to get information from her. He didn't need to do that with Bess—he had her address, phone number, and email already. He was going to be able to keep in touch.

He just wouldn't be able to actually touch her, he thought as he took her hand.

“I kind of hope it takes a while,” Bess admitted, and Joe couldn't help the grin that came with her words. “We still haven't had a chance to do our 'celebration.'”

“I know,” Joe agreed. The meal Hannah had made was great, but that wasn't the same as having a bit of time alone with Bess.

“I wish your dad wasn't rushing you back. Shouldn't Frank's injuries mean you stay around longer?” Bess asked, pouting a little as she did. “We barely got a chance to start knowing each other.”

Joe nodded. “Yeah. Normally I'd have managed to get at least one kiss—”

“Excuse me?” Bess asked, putting her hands on her hips. “Exactly _what_ kind of girl do you take me for? I am _not_ a slut. I might be a flirt, but that doesn't mean that I will just—”

“Did I say I thought that? I don't,” Joe said. He grimaced. “Look, it came out wrong. It's just... I was saying you were any kind of easy—you're not—but when I like a girl, I'm not shy. I let her know. I tell her. I persuade her to go out with me. I try and steal at least one kiss—and somehow I haven't gotten to do much of any of that with you. Something's wrong there.”

Bess considered that. “Well, as apologies go, it's a start.”

“Just a start?”

“Yes, just a start.” Bess folded her arms over her chest. “You made it sound like I was either a slut or just another notch on a belt, and that deserves a bit more than a few words.”

Joe took a step toward her. She didn't move back, which made it possible to finish closing the distance. He pulled her close and kissed her. She protested at first, then stopped, and then pushed him away.

“Really? You think it's just... that easy?”

“No, but we're in a hospital. I can't offer you dinner or a movie or anything I might have tried if I wasn't about to be packed off on a plane. All I've got is me,” Joe told her. “And if that's not enough...”

“Oh, boy, do you have some lines,” Bess said, giggling a little. “That one I liked. See, that's more like what you should have said in the first place.”

“Well, it doesn't always come out right the first time,” Joe said. “Though if you think I'm bad, you should see Frank. He's terrible.”

Bess shook her head. “I'd rather spend what little time we have left discussing us, not your brother.”

“Sounds good to me,” Joe told her before kissing her again.

* * *

“Mom, I'm fine,” Frank repeated, groaning as he put his head back on the pillow. “Really. Doctors checked me out. The hospital let me go. I'm fine.”

“Fine is not the word I'd use—and I don't want to think about what Gertrude would say,” Laura Hardy told him, shaking her head. She touched his face, closing her eyes for a moment. “Your father swore to me you'd both be safe. That going to Chicago with him while your aunt and I went to Europe was the ideal solution—”

“Dad didn't know all of this would happen,” Joe protested. “He was working something dangerous, but then a lot of his cases are dangerous, and we have helped with them in the past.”

“Usually with a bit more warning,” Frank muttered, since that was the part that still irritated him about the whole thing. He could see the need for everyone to believe their father was dead. He could see how getting him and Joe into King's house seemed ideal after what happened kept Fenton from doing much investigation on his own, but if they'd known, they would have done the same thing—and they wouldn't have been blindsided by Hausler's betrayal.

“I swear I'll make it up to all of you,” Fenton said, coming around to embrace his wife. She stiffened but accepted his hold, sighing.

“I am willing to let you try,” Laura told him, “but there better not be a next time.”

“You're not going to try and say we can't work cases, are you?” Joe asked, frowning. “That's not right. It's—Mom, we do good work. And we stop the bad guys. And Frank is okay. You can't expect us to just... quit, can you?”

“I don't think any of you could,” Laura admitted. “I just don't want to have this happen again.”

“As long as Dad promises to communicate more, I think we're fine,” Frank said, meeting his father's eyes. They hadn't resolved everything, not yet, but that was the least of what Frank wanted if he was going to forgive Fenton. He could understand everything Fenton had done during that case—trusting an old friend, using what limited resources he had, and even keeping his death quiet from his sons—their reaction had to be real, didn't it? It was just hard to take all those logical reasons and make them outweigh everything he'd felt when Marasco got hold of him.

“That is something I will definitely agree to,” Fenton said. He pulled his wife with him toward the door. “Come on. The boys need their rest.”

“Code words for Dad wants to talk to you alone,” Joe told his mother with a grin. She rolled her eyes but was still smiling as she followed Fenton out the door.

Joe watched it shut and came over to the bed, flopping at the foot of it. Frank watched him. “Is there a reason you're in here bothering me instead of calling her?”

“What, can't a guy hang out with his older brother?”

Frank looked at Joe. “I am fine. The doctors let me fly home and everything. You don't have to stay here for my sake.”

Joe shrugged. “Much as I like Bess, that group home and being separated... It sucked, okay? I'm not going to get all teary-eyed or anything, but I know you know what I mean. Even before you got hurt, I was worried about you.”

“We're a team,” Frank agreed. “And so co-dependent people could make case studies out of our issues. We're okay, Joe. We survived this, and we're back home. That's all that matters.”

“And we made new friends. Don't forget that.”

“That, too.”

“Ooh, look at you, trying to play it all cool. I know I got Bess' number and everything. You did at least make sure you had _some_ way of talking to Nancy, didn't you? I thought you agreed to working on a case with her sometime.”

“I did.”

“Bet you can't _wait_ to go back, right? They can't schedule that trial fast enough—because then you get to see her again—”

Frank reached for one of his extra pillows and threw it at his brother, hearing Joe laugh. That sounded a lot like normal—like home.


End file.
